


Souls for the Bayou

by Remsyk



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alligators, Bayou, Brief mentions of child abuse, Cajun, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Coffee Crew Chatter, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Fandom Trumps Hate, Finally some answers, Kinda, M/M, Magic Operations disguised as Medical Procedures, Mentions of Children Disappearing, Mystery, Original Character(s), Quatre is a great friend, Rumors, Slow Burn, Supernatural - Freeform, Suspense, Technically Speaking, Time Jump, Use of accents, Young Love, small town
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-04-04 18:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14025831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remsyk/pseuds/Remsyk
Summary: For Trowa Barton, exploring the bayou is the ultimate adventure. Drawn to its borders since before he could walk, he spent his childhood learning its paths and uncovering its secrets.But a chance encounter sets him on a path that spans across time, challenging everything he thought he knew, plunging him deeper into its mysteries than he ever thought possible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maevemauvaise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevemauvaise/gifts).



> Written for the ever wonderful MaeveMauvaise, who won the bid in the Fandom Trumps Hate 2018 event. The prompt idea was all hers, and I only hope I can do it justice. 
> 
> Once again, special thanks to Kangofu_CB for being an awesome beta, and for the final kick of inspiration that jump started this fic <3

_We were chasing the thunder inside the storm_  
_Running so wild outside the norm_  


**_The Bayou_ **

The young boy stomped down the path, glaring at the splashes of light that broke through the swamp’s thick canopy, stopping periodically to interrupt his gait to kick at anything within reach, be it an errant fern or stick.

Who did she think she was, telling him where he could and couldn’t play? He was eight! Perfectly capable of deciding what was acceptable fun, and being confined to the backyard was hardly interesting.

He stopped to pick up a rock, hefting it in his hand before throwing it into the shady gloom, watching as it landed with a sizable splash in the muck before sinking out of sight.

_Trowa, what did I tell you about playing in the bayou? You could take one step and disappear into the bog faster than those rocks you throw._

Trowa grabbed another rock and chucked it as hard as he could. He nodded to himself when it bounced off of a distant tree with a dull thud then dropped into the bog, the splash adding to the muffled sounds. He knew the paths better than she did; he was out here every day! She didn’t know what he did.

_One day you’re going to go too far and get lost, and then what? What if I never find you again?_

Trowa growled and continued his march, ignoring the sights as he progressed further into the swamp, his eyes fixed on the ground ahead. He could find his way home from anywhere. He didn’t need a grown up to try to keep him from his playground.

He was fascinated with the bayou. From the moment he started walking, he was always reaching for it, his tiny stumbling steps always pointed towards its edge, where the carefully manicured lawn met the untamed wild of the moss-draped trees. The swatches of grey moss always reminded him of a veil just waiting to be pulled back, to reveal the hidden secrets that whispered to him, begging to be explored.

Everyone spoke of the bayou as though it were a living thing, something demanding respect and reverence. Almost every day, someone or something disappeared, not just people, but their cars and belongings vanished without a trace.

He’d heard all the stories, all the warnings. Don’t step off the path. Don’t follow the lights. Don’t listen to the voices. Don’t trust what you see.

Trowa was smart. He could tell what was real and what wasn’t. He didn’t need all those grownups telling him what to do.

He spotted a log just ahead laying along the path and hopped up with a sigh, swinging his legs absently, bouncing his feet off the squishy wood. He leaned back, bracing his arms as he looked up into the canopy, blinking against the dying light.

He looked around for the first time and the harsh grip of panic began to grow in his chest. He didn’t recognize anything, and the sun was beginning to set. He inhaled sharply, tensing when he heard movement deep in the woods, something large rustling the underbrush.

What if that was an alligator? He wasn’t anything more than a mouthful for one of the big granddads who lived along the streams. Another rustle came from behind, and he twisted sharply to look, eyes wide as he gasped.

He scanned the wooded landscape, squinting through the drapes of moss, eyes darting between each group of underbrush hoping to catch a glimpse of what was out there.

Not long ago, his class had been learning about the different animals of the bayou. He had sat with rapt attention, absorbing every word about the creatures who made the mysterious land their home. Now, that information fed into his mind, adding a list of possibilities to what could be out there just beyond his sight.

Trowa closed his eyes, inhaling until he felt like his lungs would explode, then held it until reached his limit, exhaling in a loud whoosh. He needed to calm down. He couldn’t panic and prove his mother right.

He could find his way home by himself.

He slid off the log and turned back toward the way he came. He just needed to backtrack, follow the same path he had walked to get here. Easy enough.

Trowa set off with a huff, squaring his shoulders as he marched back towards home, his progress marked by the soft scuff of his tennis shoes against the packed dirt, the sound dying quickly in the heavy air. He smirked to himself as he marched along; he’d be back home in no time.

As he turned the corner, his confidence wavered when he drew close to a fork, each path disappearing into the woven mesh of tree limbs and moss. He glanced between the two, his panic returning as he struggled to decide which one to take.  He couldn’t follow his footprints; the dirt was dry and firm, leaving no trace of any recent travel.

After a moment of debate, he picked the path to the right, quickly walking away before he changed his mind. He followed the bend, and was suddenly very much alone. The trees and brush quickly obscured any signs of his crossroad, erasing any distinguishing features or landmarks. All he could do was move forward.

The shadows lengthened, and the gloom of twilight made it harder and harder to see as he continued on his path. Trowa had long given up his brave charade, and wrapped his arms around himself, holding back tears as he walked through the menacing wetland. He jumped at every sound, a bird’s call, a distant splash, the rustle of branches above, or the shifting of the brush below.

He was tired, hungry, sweaty from the heavy heat, and dirty from the dust that clung to his skin, and night was falling.

_What if I never find you again?_

He stopped in the middle of the path and sat down, drawing his legs up to his chest as he wrapped his arms around them. He buried his face into his knees, feeling the hot slide of tears down his legs as he cried softly.

“I just want to go home,” he sobbed, his voice muffled.

“Are you lost?”

Trowa looked up with a start, gasping as he looked into the face of a boy his age standing over him, his head tipped to the side.

“Where did you come from?” Trowa asked between hitching breaths.

“The Bayou,” the boy answered, waving a hand vaguely. “Are you lost?”

Trowa nodded as he sniffled, mesmerized by the boy’s strange purple eyes.

“I’ll help you get home,” the boy reached out a hand and pulled Trowa to his feet. They were the same height, and Trowa continued to stare, forgetting why he was crying in the first place.

“Are you okay?” The boy asked, tipping his head again.

Trowa blinked, and wiped his face with his free hand. “Yeah, I’m okay. How will you help me get home? You don’t know where I live.”

“But you do,” the boy said easily. “You already know the way.”

“No I don’t,” Trowa scowled, suddenly angry with him. “If I did, I wouldn’t be lost.”

The boy pulled him forward as he turned down the path, ignoring Trowa’s harsh tone. “Just picture it in your head. I’ll make sure we stay on the path.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Trowa argued, trailing behind the boy. It was then he noticed the long braid bouncing against the boy’s back. “Why is your hair so long?”

The boy glanced over his shoulder with a snort. “Because I like it long. Never seen a boy with long hair before?”

Trowa shook his head slowly, eyes fixed on the long rope.

“If you don’t pay attention, you’ll step in a puddle.”

Trowa glanced quickly at the path as the boy laughed. “No I won’t. It hasn’t rained all week!”

“I know. I just wanted to see your reaction,” the boy said with a smile, then turned back to the path.  The gloom of twilight was giving way to night proper. As Trowa looked around, he couldn’t see past the path as the darkness pressed in on all sides.

“How are we gonna see?” He asked, stepping closer to the mysterious boy. “Do you have a flashlight?”

“It’s a full moon tonight,” he answered without turning. “We’ll have plenty of light.”

The pair continued in silence, the cacophony of night creatures filling the air, drowning out the shuffle of their shoes against the hard earth. Occasionally, a loud splash would cut through the noise, causing Trowa to jump, but the boy never reacted.

“Are we almost there?” Trowa asked, his eyes growing heavy with the need to sleep.

“I don’t know, are we?” The boy answered without slowing, squeezing Trowa’s hand once.

It was then Trowa remembered the boy’s instructions to picture his home in his mind. He closed his eyes, trusting his companion to keep him on the path, and visualized his house, the way it stood in the center of the grassy clearing, bright white with a large wrap around porch, wide wooden steps leading down to the yard below. He could run down the back steps, out the back door, and down off the porch straight into the yard, veering slightly to the left to the path hidden by a veil of Spanish moss hanging off the old cypress tree.

“Is this it?”

Trowa opened his eyes just as they rounded a bend and came to a drape of moss. The boy stepped aside as Trowa pushed the moss out of the way and gasped.

He was home.

“Thank you!” He threw his arms around the boy, hugging him tightly as he laughed. “That was amazing!”

The boy hugged him back then pulled away. “You’re welcome. You better get inside before you get in trouble.”

“Can I see you again?” Trowa asked, his eyes shining with excitement. “We can play together!”

The boy smiled brightly and nodded. “Yeah! I don’t have anyone to play with.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be your friend.” Trowa nodded firmly, his expression serious.

“Trowa! Is that you?”

“Coming!” Trowa answered, then turned back to the boy. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

The boy nodded and waved. “Bye!”

Trowa ran across the yard and up the stairs, ducking under his mother’s arm as she held open the door.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”

Trowa tuned out the sound of her voice as he thought back to the boy, grinning with excitement as he washed up for dinner. As he dried off his hands, he froze with a sudden thought.

He never got the boy’s name.

***

Trowa crashed through the screen door, ignoring the sharp clap of the wood slamming against the door frame as he raced down the porch stairs, steps pounding as he cut through the grass to the hidden path.

“Don’t stray off the path!”

Trowa waved a hand over his shoulder then ducked under the moss curtain, pausing just inside the boundary to catch his breath. It was always like stepping into a different world. Where one side was bright and hot with the morning sun, inside it was cool and muggy, the heavy shade of the canopy creating a gloomy landscape.

“You came!”

Trowa looked up and smiled, catching sight of the boy as he came around the bend, a matching smile on his face.

“Of course I did! I said we’re friends,” Trowa said, walking further down the path to meet him. “My name is Trowa.”

“That’s a funny name,” the boy said with a laugh. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

“Oh yeah?” Trowa challenged, hands on his hips. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t like my name,” the boy said with a mysterious grin. “Everyone calls me Duo.”

Trowa scoffed and crossed his arms. “That name is way more weird than mine.”

“It’s way better, is what you mean,” Duo stuck his tongue out at him then leapt forward to grab Trowa’s hand. “Come on! I have someplace I want to show you!”

The pair took off down the path, laughing and joking as they traveled deeper into the bayou. Eventually, Duo came to a stop, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Trowa braced himself on his knees as he huffed alongside him.

“This is it!” Duo gasped, waving at a large tree set off to the side of the path, surrounded by draping branches woven with moss, the grey contrasting against the bright green leaves.

Trowa looked at it, impressed with its size, but otherwise confused. “It’s really big, but it’s just a tree.”

Duo whirled on him with a gasp, his eyes wide. “Just a tree? This is the oldest tree in the part of the bayou and you say it’s _just a tree_?” He shook his head as he tutted. “You haven’t even seen the best part.”

Duo stepped off the path onto a makeshift set of stairs that twisted up to the base of the tree. Trowa followed, blinking in surprise when he noticed the steps were made from the the tree’s roots, each twist filled with packed dirt, creating a natural rise. Duo ducked under a part in the branches and disappeared. Trowa followed behind and ducked under the leaves, brushing aside the tendrils of moss, and gasped.

A wide tangle of roots created the foundation for a floor of packed earth under a deep green canopy of branches, cutting them off from the world outside. The ancient trunk dominated one side of the natural hut. On the far side, the roots sloped down to a smaller ledge just above the slow moving water, large enough for the pair to sit at the edge comfortably. The air was still, the sounds of the world outside muted and distant.

“This is amazing!” Trowa breathed, his eyes wide with awe. “It’s your own private hideout!”

“It’s our hideout,” Duo said, sitting back against the tree. “Our secret place.”

Trowa sat down beside him, staring at the play of light against the leaves above. “I’m so glad I met you,” he breathed, warm and content, and suddenly overwhelmed with happiness.

Duo shifted closer until he was pressed against Trowa’s side. “Me too.”

The pair sat in silence until the grumble of Trowa’s stomach cut through the air, setting off a round of laughter from the boys. Trowa pulled an apple out of his pocket, pausing to rub it off against his shirt, then took a bite, munching happily.

After a moment, he noticed Duo looking down at his empty hands. “Didn’t you bring something to eat?”

Duo shook his head. “I can’t bring food outside,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll eat when I get home.”

“But that’s all day,” Trowa said, frowning. “You can’t wait that long.”

But Duo just shrugged, and smiled at Trowa, tipping his head back. “It’s okay. I do it all the time.”

“Not this time,” Trowa said firmly. He took a big bite of his apple, then handed it to Duo, waiting for him to take it.

Duo stared down at the fruit, frowning in confusion. “What are you doing?”

Trowa swallowed enough to speak. “You can have some.” When Duo hesitated, he shoved it into his hands. “Just take a bite, then I’ll take a bite, and then it’s your turn, until it’s gone. I’ve already had two bites, so you can have two.”

Duo swallowed and clenched his jaw, pressing his lips together as he wrapped his hands around the apple. He nodded, barely more than a twitch, then raised the fruit to his mouth and took a small bite.

Trowa watched as Duo’s eyes fell shut as he chewed slowly, savoring the bite before taking another, slightly bigger chunk. He immediately handed it back to Trowa, avoiding his gaze as he ate.

The pair passed the apple back and forth until it was gone and Trowa toyed with the core, debating about what to do with it.

“Here.” Duo held out his hand for it. “We can give it to the animals. They’ll love it.” Trowa handed it over, and watched as Duo got up and walked to the step just inside the branches and set the core on the edge.

“Someone will come looking for it,” he said. “We’ll just have to be patient.”

The boys settled in to wait, eyes fixed on the fruit, both tense with excitement. As the wait dragged on, their eyes grew heavy as boredom set in. Before long, they were leaning against each other, dozing in the warm, afternoon heat.

Trowa woke with a heavy sigh, stretching his arms over his head as he arched off the hard trunk against his back. He glanced down to his lap, where Duo had slipped until his head lay pillowed on Trowa’s thigh, hands tucked under his leg as he slept. He didn’t want to move and wake Duo, but his leg had fallen asleep, along with his butt.

He reached down and shook Duo gently on the shoulder. “Duo, wake up. My leg’s asleep.”

Duo groaned and curled tighter, scrunching his face in displeasure. “So was I,” he grumbled, rolling slowly up to sit, rubbing at his face.

Trowa stood up and rubbed his butt, hissing as pins and needles shot down his leg. “We need sleeping bags if we’re going to nap out here.”

“Are we camping now?” Duo mumbled, blinking blearily up at him.

“Why not? We can have food, some cushions to sit on, bring some games to play,” Trowa listed off. “It will be fun!”

“Sounds good to me,” Duo yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “I think it’s about time to head back.”

Trowa’s shoulders drooped. “Already?”

“We practically slept all day,” Duo rose to his feet, brushing the dirt off his clothes. “Trowa!” His eyes widened as suddenly tensed and pointed. “Look!”

Trowa followed his finger to the steps, confused for a moment before he realized what was missing. The apple core was gone.

The boys grinned at each other, satisfied that their plan had worked, even though they missed seeing which animal took it. They climbed out of their tree hideout and wandered back down the path.

Once they reached the edge of the bayou, Trowa turned to Duo. “I’ll bring some stuff with me tomorrow.”

Duo grinned. “Sure! I’ll see you then!”

Trowa waited a moment longer, then slipped past the veil, leaving Duo behind.

Their adventures continued for weeks, doing anything from making boats from the sticks and leaves to race in the water, using their tiny port as a launch pad, to exploring deep into the bayou, climbing trees and swinging on ropes. Duo showed him the paths that were safe to walk, and Trowa taught him how to play the board games he brought along, patiently explaining the rules as Duo fumbled with the pieces.

As agreed, Trowa brought lunch for them both every day, and Duo brought cushions, bigger and much nicer than anything Trowa had seen before, the fabric cool and slick, the thick cushion firm enough to hold them off the ground, yet soft enough to sleep comfortably.

“They’re the only ones we have,” Duo explained with a shrug.

The two were lounging together on one of the large cushions when Duo suddenly sat up, his eyes wide as his shoulders tensed. He held his breath as he tipped his head, as if straining to hear something. Trowa watched him in silence, somehow sensing the need to remain quiet.

Then Duo was up, pulling Trowa to his feet as he pushed him to the stairs. “You have to go!” He said, frantically pulling on Trowa’s arms when he refused to move.

“Duo, wait!” Trowa struggled, trying to hold his balance against Duo’s tugging. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“They’re coming! You’re not supposed to be here!” Duo glanced over his shoulder, his eyes wide as he breathed heavily. “They can’t get you!”

“Who’s coming?” Trowa pushed against his rising panic, trying to remain calm as Duo’s fear bled into his own.

“They can’t see you if you’re outside! Just go!” Duo changed tactics and pushed at him again, following him down the steps until they stood on the path. Trowa planted his feet and twisted out of Duo’s grip, grabbing his arms.

“What are you talking about?” He demanded, his fear and worry hardening his words. “Who are you afraid of?”

Duo looked up at him desperately, his eyes wide. “Please, go home! Get away from here! I won’t let them get you. They can’t get you,” he trailed off, closing his watery eyes.

Trowa pulled him into a hug, holding him tightly as he pressed his face against Duo’s hair. “I’ll go,” he promised. “But please stay safe.” He felt Duo nod, his fingers digging into Trowa’s back, then Duo pulled away, stepping out of his embrace.

“Go.”

Trowa turned and ran, the image of Duo’s tear stained face imprinted in his mind, his final word echoing in his head, mixing with the sound of his harsh breathing as he pushed himself faster and faster. Panic rose in his chest, the feeling of something coming for him, reaching out of the shadows of the swamp to wrap around him, pull him into its depths to never let go-

He burst through the curtain into the sunlight, tripping in the grass as he fell on his face with a grunt. He lay in the yard, his heart pounding in his ears as he fought for breath, soaking in the rays of the hot sun, so different from the heavy shade of the bayou.

He was safe. He made it out.

But what about Duo?

He rolled on his back, arms and legs stretched wide as he stared into the bright blue sky. What had he been so afraid of? Would he ever see Duo again? What did he mean, ‘they can’t get you’?

“Trowa! Oh!”

Trowa leaned his head back, watching upside down as his sister walked down the porch steps.

“I thought I’d be calling myself hoarse before you came in. Dinner’s ready.”

“Okay.” Trowa waved a hand before letting it drop to the ground again, returning his gaze to the sky. He heard her scoff  before the familiar creak of the stairs signaled her departure.

It was then he decided, he would go back tomorrow. Whatever happened to Duo, he was going to be there for him, just like Duo had done for him when he had been lost.

Trowa sat up, pausing long enough to gaze at the curtain that separated his world from Duo’s, wishing desperately for a moment for Duo to burst past the moss, to stumble into the light and be okay. But when nothing happened, Trowa sighed and stood up, and made his way to the house.

He’d see him tomorrow.

Except he didn’t.

Trowa ducked under the canopy, hope fluttering in his chest as he looked around for Duo, but he was alone. He crossed the dirt floor to the far slope, thinking that maybe Duo would be perched on their impromptu boat launch, but the platform was empty as well. He checked all their usual haunts, their various forts and bases around the bayou, but each one was empty and silent.

Finally, Trowa trudged back to the hut. He pulled an apple out of his pocket and set in on Duo’s cushion, then turned and left.

A week went by, and every day, Trowa made his rounds, checking the hideout for any signs that Duo had been there. Every day, the apple was gone, but Trowa didn’t want to get his hopes up. Any animal could have come inside and taken it, but he still left one before he left in the evening. Maybe it was wasteful, but Trowa still held a sliver of hope that it had been Duo who had taken it.

Halfway through the second week, his mother made an announcement at dinner.

They would be moving to New Orleans. The movers would be here next week.

Trowa sat in shock as the whirlwind of conversation moved on without him. He was leaving, and he didn’t even know what happened to Duo. What if Duo came back after he moved? How would Duo know what happened? Would he never see his friend again?

He left the dinner table in silence and trudged to his room. He laid on the bed and stared out the window into the bayou, his questions constantly swirling in his head, keeping him awake long into the night.

The day the movers arrived, Trowa slipped out the back, using the chaos to make his escape. Today was his last day, his last chance to see Duo. He pressed his hand against his pocket where his letter was tucked inside, explaining the move.

He didn’t want to leave it; if he could just see Duo, explain in person what was going on, and reassure himself that he was alright, maybe he would find some peace of mind.

He ducked into the hideout, his eyes downcast, bracing himself for another empty room.

“You came back.”

Trowa froze and gasped, his eyes snapping to the boy sitting on the cushion, an apple held between his hands. Then he was across the room, crushing Duo to his chest as he buried his face in his hair, his tears soaking Duo’s shirt as Duo soaked his, arms wrapped around Trowa. They remained locked together for a long moment, until Trowa’s back began to protest the strange angle.

He shifted enough to sit on the cushion across from Duo, knocking his knees against his own, their clasped hands laying on top.

“What happened?” Trowa whispered, his voice rough and shaky.

Duo shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I had to keep you safe.”

“I came back every day.”

“I know.” Duo smiled, small and gentle.

Trowa ducked his head, biting his lip as he pushed back another wave of tears. He finally got to see Duo again, and now he was the one leaving.

“You have to go,” Duo stated, his voice soft.

Trowa nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “We’re moving,” he finally croaked, inhaling a shaky breath. “I don’t want to go.”

Duo reached up and brushed his cheek, catching the stray tears that escaped. “I don’t want you to go, but we all have to do things we don’t want to.”

“Will I ever see you again?” Trowa hiccupped, looking up. Duo nodded firmly. “Yes.”

The two sat in silence, simply holding on as the day slipped by, until they couldn’t put it off any longer. They walked back hand in hand, and even the air around them felt heavier, the hush a little more complete, as though the bayou held its breath.

They stopped at the familiar curtain, the veil that once separated two worlds, now the gateway between the past and the uncertain future.

“We’ll see each other again,” Duo said, his voice steady. “I know it.”

Trowa stared at the ground, his hand poised against his pocket as he fought back tears. He clenched his eyes shut, then grabbed the letter, pulling it out quickly before he changed his mind. He held it out for Duo, averting his gaze.

“I was going to leave this for you,” he said.

Duo blinked in surprise, and reached for the paper. As he grabbed it, Trowa snatched his hand and leaned forward. He placed a light kiss on the other boy’s lips, blushing furiously as Duo stared at him in shock.

“Trowa-”

“Goodbye.”

Trowa dropped his hands and raced through the moss, scrubbing at his eyes as he pounded up the familiar porch stairs, ducking and weaving through the multiple bodies hauling his life away, gutting the house he knew as home.

“Trowa, there you are! Where have you been? We’re just about ready to go,” his mother called from the front door. “Grab your backpack and get in the car.”

Trowa yelled that he heard as he raced up the stairs, sliding to a halt in front of his old room. He grabbed the bag in the middle of the empty room, containing everything he’d need for the trip to their new house. He looked out the window one last time, memorizing the snippet of the bayou, the old cypress tree centered in his view. With a shuddering breath, he turned away.

He avoided everyone’s eyes as he climbed into the car, tossing his backpack behind him as he pressed against his sister, ignoring her complaints as he stared out the window.

The car started up, and they pulled out of the drive. As they rounded the corner, Trowa could see the cypress tree, and just off to the side, the moss was pushed aside, revealing the face of a familiar young boy.

Trowa gasped and straightened in his seat, his eyes fixed on him, committing the image to memory, holding tight to every detail he could see. A tree suddenly crossed in his view, obscuring the sight. Trowa blinked as it passed, searching desperately for the familiar veil, finally catching sight of it just before they left the driveway.

But the boy was gone.

_Dear Duo,_

_I wanted to see you before we go, but my family is moving to New_ ~~_Orleen_~~ _Orleans._

_I don’t want to go, but I want to see you again someday._

_I love you._

_Trowa_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have done a lot of research for this, A LOT, more than I normally do. I have never been to Louisiana, but I am fascinated by the swamps and bayous and the entire culture surrounding it. 
> 
> The lyrics used are from "Misfits" by Shinedown


	2. Chapter 2

_Staring back in time_

_The two of us intertwined_

 

**Fifteen years later**

 

**_New Orleans_ **

“It sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like a nightmare,” Trowa glared over his drink at the peppy blond, ignoring the grin he tossed his way.

“Explain how a family reunion could be a nightmare,” he asked sweetly, swirling his drink.

“Oh, I don’t know. Picture your own family reunion and get back with me.” Trowa knocked back the rest of his drink, smirking when Quatre grimaced.

“Point taken.”

Trowa sighed and leaned back in his seat, tipping his head back as he clenched his eyes shut. “Maybe I’m being dramatic-” He ignored the mumbled agreement from his friend, “-but it’s also the first time we’ve had so many people in the house. What if they don’t like it?”

“Trowa, first of all, it’s a work in progress.” Quatre set down his drink as he tapped his points out on his fingers. “Two, anyone who complains is more than welcome to pick up a hammer and start working.”

Trowa snorted at the thought, leaning back over the table. “No way. They’ll ruin it.”

“Three,” Quatre continued, raising an eyebrow. “You’re too much of a control freak to allow that, so you can just throw them out. Plus you won’t see them for another year anyway.”

“You know me so well,” Trowa smiled.

Quatre rolled his eyes. “I somehow managed to put up with you through four years of college. I’ve picked up your dirty underwear; I think that puts me in a category all its own.”

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Trowa smirked. “I remember a certain inebriated evening involving various pieces of lingerie, the class blonde bitch, and a trip to the emergency room requiring a creative reason as to why you had a television antenna trying to broadcast signals to your appendix.”

Quatre’s head sunk to the table top with a thump, narrated by a long and heartfelt groan. “Oh my God, don’t remind me. And for the record, it was not my appendix.”

Trowa patted his head, smirking at his dejected friend. “And you have the scar to prove it.”

“God, when do you _leave_?”

“Tomorrow morning, which means I have all night to torment you.”

Another groan emerged from the blond head, setting off fresh wave of laughter. Fortunately for Quatre, after another hour, Trowa called it a night, stepping outside into the muggy air to hail a cab back to his apartment.

Once inside and settled, he grabbed his favorite duffle and tossed in a change of clothes, setting his toiletries bag on top, then crashed for the night.

The next morning, he woke to his regular alarm. He slapped the snooze and lay in a heap, every ounce of his being protesting the early rise only to ride hours in a car to an event he was being forced to attend. Plus, the prospect of sleeping on a hard surface tonight made it especially difficult to rise from his memory foam comfort.

He lay in bed until the alarm shrieked again, and he forced himself to his feet, turning off the alarm with a practiced flick. He quickly showered and dressed, then, after tucking away his final items, left for the long drive.

Hours later, Trowa climbed out of the car, taking a moment to drink in the sight of his childhood home, the once bright white paint chipped and faded, the stairs a bit more worn, the hedges and trees straggly and overgrown.

His mother had thought he was crazy when he and Cathy told her they’d bought the house. The previous owners had used and abused the house, packing up and leaving after they had trashed the place. The bank eventually picked it up, and the siblings bought it at a foreclosure sale.

The pair had set to work immediately, cleaning out the trash and debris piled in every room, wearing masks and gloves as they cleared old animal refuse. It had been painful work, slowly uncovering the memories that tied them to their old home.

Now, more than a year later, the house, while far from livable, was at least habitable. Every room was clean, the roof repaired and watertight, new drywall hung, the stairs rebuilt, and the front and back porches fixed.

Their mother had decided, in a burst of inspiration, to hold their family reunion at the old house as a way to showcase their hard work, and reignite old memories. While Trowa didn’t mind the praise, being around so many relatives was exhausting, and this year wasn’t shaping up to be any different.

He made his way across the front yard, weaving around cars parked haphazardly in the grass, anywhere they could squeeze in. As he climbed the porch stairs, he could hear the din of conversation floating from inside, dotted with laughter and shouts from children. With a bracing breath, he pulled open the front door and stepped inside.

The next couple of hours were a whirlwind of faces, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, nieces, nephews, second cousins, great aunts and uncles, the list went on and on.

Trowa clutched his beer like a lifeline, threading his way through the chaos until he found a vacant chair on the back porch, and dropped into it with a sigh.

“Rough day?”

Trowa smiled at the familiar Cajun drawl, and turned to the tiny, old woman in the chair beside him, bundled up in her knitted shaw.

“Probably not as rough as yours,” he answered as he nodded to her cup. “Do you need a refill, Nonnie?”

“Only if ya put in de good stuff, none a dat weak nonsense ya call alcohol.”

Trowa grinned and took her cup, making his way to the kitchen. He grabbed the bourbon, avoiding eye contact with the unfamiliar relatives as he poured her drink, then retreated quickly.

When he made it back, his grandma was accompanied by his mother and Cathy, who seemed to be engaged in a rather riveting conversation.

“Here’s your drink, Nonnie,” Trowa handed her the cup, smiling when she winked at him.

“You’re always my favorite grandchil’.”

“What about me?” Cathy asked with mock hurt from her perch on the railing. “I’m the well behaved one of the family.”

“You refused ta get me a decent drink,” Nonnie replied, taking a sip. She smacked her lips and sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Dat’s de good stuff.”

“Trowa must have gotten his rebellious streak from you,” Cathy laughed as their mother rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, he ran off every day to go play in that swamp,” she said, shaking her head.

“To go play with your imaginary friend!” Cathy supplied. “What was his name? Double? Doodle?”

“Duo,” Trowa snapped with a glare. “And he wasn’t imaginary.”

“Sure, as if we’re not in the middle of nowhere, and there just so happens to be a kid your age to play with in the bayou.” Cathy rolled her eyes.

“You say his name was Duo?” All eyes turned to Nonnie as she stared at Trowa, her eyes pinning him in place. “A young boy?”

“Yes?” He said, resisting the urge to shift under her harsh stare. “Why? Do you know him?”

“Dat’s a name I haven’t heard in o’er sixty years,” she said, dropping her gaze to her drink. “All but forgotten,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself.

Trowa felt a chill pass down his back, and he sat down slowly in the vacant chair, turning it slightly so he perched on the edge, watching her intently. “What are you talking about?”

“Years and years ago, two young boys wandered into de bayou and vanished witout a trace,” she began, speaking slowly as she looked at each of them in turn. “Back in my day, dere was a man who lived on de edge a town wit his two boys, Solomon and Dominic Maxwell. Solomon was older, twelve years, and Dominic was eight. I had such a crush on Solomon.” She smiled wistfully and shook her head slowly.

“He had white blonde hair an’ light blue eyes, an’ a devil may care attitude. All de girls in my class tought he was de bee’s knees.”

“Sounds like a real looker, Nonnie.” Cathy grinned.

“Hm, he was,” she agreed, tossing Cathy a wink and a grin. “But his little broter, Dominic, was de sweetie. He could charm de boots of ya and you’d gladly walk home barefoot in de rain, but he’d just as quickly give ya de coat off his back. De opposite of Solomon in ev’ry way, long, brown hair he kept inna braid an’ deep blue eyes.”

Trowa swallowed thickly, frozen in his chair as he listened to her speak, mesmerized as her words wrapped around him.

“But e’eryone in town knew ‘bout deir daddy, a mean ole drunk who couldn’t care less ‘bout ‘em. Solomon would come de school painted wit bruises, but we couldn’t do a ting ‘bout it,” Nonnie shook her head and closed her eyes. “Still breaks my heart.”

A hush fell over the group, each lost in their thoughts. “What happened?” Trowa finally asked.

Nonnie inhaled slowly, then opened her eyes. “Dey vanished,” she hissed, waving her hand out. “Didn’t show up for school; no one seen dem for a couple days. Da town feared da worst, tinkin’ dat maybe deir daddy had finally done ‘em in. So de men went o’er ta visit Maxwell, your great granddaddy too, and demanded ta know what happened.” She pounded her fist against her leg.

Trowa held his breath, his stomach sinking as the end of the story became clear.

“He told dem he didn’t know where dey were, said dey had run off into de bayou, Solomon dragging Dominic wit him. Hadn’t seen ‘em for days.”

She paused to take a drink, sipping slowly. “My daddy came back furious and heartsick. I guess he couldn’t imagine just sittin’ ‘round if any of my siblings went missin’. He organized a hunt for de boys, and de whole town got involved. Dey had dogs, divers, helicopters. Hell, dey called in de National Guard ta help walk the bayou, hoping ta find some trace of ‘em.”

She swirled the remains of her drink, peering into the amber depths. “Dey ne’er found a ting. Dey were just gone, ‘nother couple souls for de bayou.”

Trowa inhaled a shaky breath, trying to reconcile his memories of the smiling boy against the story he’d heard. It was impossible.

“What about Duo?” He asked, bracing to hear the answer.

“Dat was Dominic’s nickname,” she said, her gaze distant. She paused, then chuckled to herself. “Solomon was Solo, and lil Dominic was Duo.” She suddenly snapped her gaze to Trowa and narrowed her eyes. “You saw a boy in de bayou?”

Trowa swallowed, resisting the urge to knock back his drink. “He was my age, long brown hair tied in a braid, blue eyes.”

She held his gaze, searching his face before nodding sharply. “The bayou has a way of keepin’ secrets, and in many ways is more mysterious dan God himself. I don’t know what you saw, but dere are tings we can’t explain.”

“You believe me,” Trowa gasped, his mind still reeling from the possibility that he spent his last summer here playing with the ghost of a long dead child.

“Who knows?” She said, holding his gaze. “Only you know for sure.”

“Well that is beyond creepy,” Cathy said, rising from her perch. “I’m up for another round, who’s with me?” She raised her cup in question.

Trowa declined with a shake of his head, rising slowly, his gaze drawn to the old cypress tree, still standing tall against the wall of the swamp, a sentinel standing guard to another world. Even now, the old paths called to him, and he found himself leaving the party behind, crossing the grass as he followed a trail etched into his bones.

The moss still hung from the branches, though it was a bit longer, a bit more ragged than he remembered.  He paused at the entry, unsure of what he was looking for. What did he expect to find? A smiling child with strange purple eyes, waiting for him at the bend? Or would it be better if there was nothing, that the strange and grand mysteries he explored as a child turned out to be mundane landmarks, simple trees that seemed so much stranger in a boy’s overactive imagination?

He inhaled deeply, then swept back the moss, blinking into the darkened swamp. He stepped into the gloom, taking in the familiar, yet entirely different, environment. The path was still there, still curved away just as he remembered, but it was much smaller than he recalled, the perspective of a boy clashing against the now.

Trowa took a step, pausing as though he expected something to happen, for someone to rush out of the bayou and call to him, for someone to pull him back to the bright daylight of the normal world, but neither happened. He took another step, then another, his progress pulling him down the path, towards destinations he once dreamed about, longing to return to the world he created with the mysterious boy.

Duo.

What if he did see him? Would he recognize Trowa? Would he still be that eight year old boy, trapped in the bayou that claimed his life? Could Trowa see ghosts? Was any of it real?

He stopped automatically, before his mind processed why he halted in the middle of the path. He looked around, and gasped as he stared at the familiar tree.

Fifteen years had done little to change the ancient tree. What were a few more years added on to hundreds? The steps were still present, their shaped changed slightly with the erosion of wind and rain, the washing of new sediment with the ebb and flow of floods. He made his way up them slowly, planting each step in the center, his mind replaying every step he took years ago, each overlapping, some slower, some faster, but all touching each step.

As he came to the doorway, he paused at the top, looking down at the tiny break in the mass of branches. Back then, it had been the perfect size, just large enough for a child to pass through easily. He crouched, pushing aside the branches, and shuffled inside.

He stood slowly, taking in the familiar muted silence, the still, heavy air that even after all these years, smelled and tasted like home. He stretched an arm over his head, trailing his fingers along the woven branches until they rose out of reach, so much closer than he remembered, but back then, he hadn’t been pushing six foot three.

His eyes traced the path to the base of the wide trunk, where a set of cushions once sat, now empty, covered in discarded leaves and dirt. The path fell to the side, down the sloped walk to the tiny platform. Once, it had been big enough for two. Now, he only had room to stand, his feet taking up the space where he had crouched, sending poorly built ships to their doom.

As he stepped up into the main clearing, he spotted a splash of color at the base of the tree, hidden by the fallen leaves. He knelt, brushed them away, and froze, his eyes wide in shock.

It was a single, red apple.

His hand hovered over its shiny surface, torn between what he was seeing and his own disbelief.

Looking back, that summer had felt like a dream, something he imagined as he lay in bed in an unfamiliar room, fabricating scenarios of what he wished he could do, places where he could hide, games he would play, and the person he would play with.

But this…

Trowa reached out, tapping the surface tentatively, half expecting it to vanish with a blink. He was met with a cool, smooth surface, one that was very real.

He hadn’t imagined it. This was real. Duo was real.

But how?

Trowa trekked back to the house, his footsteps heavy as he turned over scenarios in his head, each one more outrageous than the last.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He paused at the base of the porch stairs, looking up to where Cathy stood, arms crossed loosely at her waist, a beer bottle held in each hand. “Find what you were looking for?”

Trowa blinked at her, then raised his hand, holding up the apple. She studied him a moment, looking between his face and the fruit, then jerked her head to the side as she moved to the set of empty rockers.

He followed her silently, accepting the offered bottle as he sat down with a heavy sigh, rocking absently as he stared across the yard. Tiny flashes of light danced just above the green, lighting up the evening as the ever present song of peepers and crickets filled the air. The party had long dispersed, family and relatives scattering across the country to their homes, disappearing from sight and mind until the next gathering, leaving Cathy and Trowa alone.

“You used to come back just buzzing with energy,” Cathy said quietly, matching his gaze across the yard. “Every day, you would race out of here, pounding down those steps like you were going to the fair, a smile stretched from ear to ear. I had no idea how a swamp could possibly be that much fun.”

Trowa didn’t answer, remembering that daily rush, the excitement he felt every morning knowing he was going to spend the day with Duo, returning every night exhausted, but happy, eager to sleep so he could start all over again.

“I guess it wasn’t a what, but who,” she said, her voice barely loud enough to be heard over the evening song.

“It was real,” Trowa’s hand clenched around the apple, feeling the slide of it against his palm. “Duo, the hideout, the apples, everything.”

“How?” Cathy asked, voicing the question Trowa had been asking himself since listening to Nonnie’s story.

The pair sat in silence, drinking their beer until the only light came from the mass of fireflies hovering in the night.

Finally, Cathy rose, leaving Trowa with his thoughts, his empty bottle dangling in his hand over the edge of the rocker’s arm. The apple was still clutched in his hand, and he raised it to eye level, staring at the dull red surface as if it held the answer to all his questions.

After a moment, he moved to take a bite, the sharp sound cutting loudly through the silence. It was crisp and juicy, just sweet enough, exactly how he liked, exactly how he remembered.

He chewed on it thoughtlessly, the experience slightly surreal in his beer-hazed mind. He blinked, staring at the core, hardly remembering eating the whole thing, then rose and set it on the edge of the top step, and went inside.

Trowa rolled over with a groan, pulling his sleeping bag closer against the chilly morning air. His back throbbed in protest of the harsh sleeping conditions, reminding him of all the reasons why he hated sleeping on the floor.

“Rise and shine, sleepy head! I’m only making breakfast once.”

He leaned up on his elbows to squint across the living room into the kitchen, where Cathy stood at the end of the island, plastic spoon in hand.

“What are you making?” He croaked, dry washing his face before pushing his hair pack, ignoring the way his bangs fell back over his eye.

“Cereal.”

“Joy,” he deadpanned, rising to stretch with a groan, his joints popping. “The first piece of furniture this place is getting is a bed.”

“Only if it’s big enough for two, cuz I ain’t sleeping on the floor,” Cathy replied, handing him a bowl when he shuffled into the kitchen.

“Two beds then,” he amended, fixing his bowl automatically, dumping in the rest of the milk. They ate in comfortable silence. Once finished, Trowa went to roll up the sleeping bags while Cathy cleaned up the kitchen, collecting their trash in a small bag to take with her.

“Are you leaving soon?” Trowa asked as he followed her out to her car, bags in tow.

“I was waiting for you to wake up before I left,” she said, stuffing the bags into her trunk. “I need to be home before the kids get back from their dad’s.”

He nodded, then opened his arms for a hug. They held on tightly before she pulled away, one foot propped against the door frame. “Don’t forget to email me your schedule so we can meet up. At this rate, we’ll have this thing finished in a few years,” she laughed.

“At this rate, we’ll have enough money saved up to just hire someone to finish the job,” he replied with a grin. “Have a safe trip.”

“You too.”

Trowa watched as she pulled away, waving when she paused at the end of the drive, then disappeared around the turn. He went back inside, gathering his few belongings as he cleaned up, brushing his teeth with a bottle of water, then stowed his toiletries in his duffle. After a final sweep of the house, he locked the door and hopped down the steps to his car. He tossed his bag in the back seat, then made his way around the car, only to hesitate, his hand hovering over the handle.

He felt conflicted, his need to leave for home straining against a need to visit the hideout one more time, to see if maybe, impossibly, there was another sign that Duo had been there. Part of him wanted to put the whole thing behind him; it was nothing but a ghost story, a summer he’ll never be able to explain that happened years ago. But another part, buried deep within him, the part that wrote the note, that gave him the courage to kiss the boy he loved, begged him to stay.

He knew which part he wanted.

Trowa pulled open the door and leaned over the seat, reaching for the notepad he kept in his glove compartment. He searched for a pen, shoving aside old registration papers and napkins until he found one buried at the bottom, then quickly scribbled out a note.

He ripped it out of the notepad, then climbed out the car, slamming the door as he ran around the house down to the cypress tree. He ducked around the veil, racing down the familiar path until the old tree came into sight.

Without slowing, he bound up the steps, crouching into the doorway so quickly he had to push himself off the dirt floor. He rose quickly, breathing heavily into the still air as he glanced around.

He had expected it to be empty. He wasn’t expecting the pang of regret that stabbed through his chest.

Trowa approached the base of the tree slowly, his eyes raking over the leaves, hoping to catch a glimpse of another apple, but a cursory search of the debis came up empty. Undeterred, he hunted through the leaves until he found what he was looking for, then cleared the area, shoving the leaves down the far slope into the water. Satisfied, he laid the note against the base of the tree and laid the rock on the bottom to hold it in place.

He stepped back, looking over his work, tamping down on any guilt over his childish behaviour, then turned and walked away.

The trek back to his car was much slower than his frantic run to the tree, each step heavy, the path longer than he expected, as though the bayou didn’t want him to leave any more than he wanted to go.

As he rounded the final bend, he stopped in front of the veil, remembering his last moments here years ago, when he had said his final goodbye to his first love, a boy who saved him in more ways than he realized.

He held his breath, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll hear his voice again, calling from the bayou, appearing when he needed him most.

_Are you lost?_

Now more than ever.

The moment passed, and Trowa ducked under the curtain, back into the real world, to the life he led as a twenty-three year old living in New Orleans, so far removed from the eight year old who ran the paths of the bayou.

With a mind clouded with questions, and a heart heavy with memories, Trowa pulled away from his home, eyes on the road ahead.

_Dear Duo,_

_I haven’t forgotten you. I’m still here._

_I still love you._

_Trowa_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing accents is HARD. I hope that Nonnie's Cajun accent came through without being too difficult to read. I listened to a lot of sound clips to get it as close as possible. I promise she's the only one, though, haha.


	3. Chapter 3

_ 'Cause the world has a way of tearing you down _

_ Keeps you tied to the circus _

_ Paints you up like a clown _

 

**_New Orleans_ **

Trowa sat and stared at his drink, his thoughts circling his mind, repeating questions without revealing answers. It had been a week since he returned from the house, and his weekend was quickly shaping up to be spent with his mind miles away, traversing hidden paths.

A drink suddenly appeared on the table, followed by the scrape of a chair being pulled across the floor.

“You look like you’re having an existential crisis,” Quatre said, settling in the seat. “Did you have a traumatizing experience with one of your distant relatives?”

Trowa shook his head slowly, his eyes still fixed on his drink. “I don’t know what happened.”

The table creaked slightly as Quatre leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. Trowa glanced up, surprised by Quatre’s serious expression, his entire focus on him.

“Do you need my lawyers?”

Trowa huffed and shook his head, using the moment to take a drink. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…” He trailed off, unsure of how to explain his dilemma. Quatre waited patiently, searching Trowa’s face. “Have you ever looked back at a memory, only to find that the way you remembered it was completely wrong?”

Quatre frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Trowa breathed deeply as he fiddled with the glass, spinning in with his fingertips. “I grew up in Levoile. My house was right on the edge of the bayou, and I played there almost every day.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “The last summer before we moved, I met a boy, and we played there together every day. I thought… I never thought anything of it. He was just a friend, someone to have adventures with, but-” 

He grabbed his glass, wrapping both hands around the base. “Turns out it may have been something completely different.”

“What changed?” Quatre asked, his voice laced with quiet concern.

“My grandma told me a story,” Trowa scoffed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. It sounds crazy in my head, let alone saying it out loud.”

“I won’t think you’re crazy,” Quatre said. Trowa looked up at him, searching his face. Quatre looked back, his gaze steady, open and earnest. “Whatever it is, it’s clearly important to you, or you wouldn’t be this upset.”

“She was telling us about two boys, brothers, who went missing when she was a kid. They got lost in the bayou and vanished.”

Quatre shook his head. “That’s awful.”

“But one of them that she described sounded exactly like the boy I played with that summer,” Trowa leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “It’s impossible. I can’t wrap my head around it. I just- I can’t shake this feeling that I spent my summer with a freaken ghost!”

Trowa took a long draw from his beer as he braced himself for Quatre’s judgement, his disbelieving scoff, a dismissal. 

“What do you remember about him?”

Instead, Quatre looked concerned and interested, his expression just as serious as before. 

Trowa looked away, his gaze distant, once again spinning his glass slowly on the table. “He was kind. We met because I got lost; he helped me find my way home. He showed me all these amazing places in the bayou. We had so many adventures.” he smiled to himself, recalling the wild stories and scenarios they created, the epic boat battles and races that inevitably ended with the poorly constructed crafts sinking. 

“So what’s changed?” Quatre prompted.

“Maybe the part where he’s dead?” Trowa snapped, glaring at Quatre’s placid tone.

“But he wasn’t,” Quatre stated calmly. “Or he wasn’t to you. Otherwise, you would be unsettled by the thought, maybe amused; enough to tell a good ghost story. Instead, you’re trying to rationalize all the things you did against an impossible scenario.”

“But the story, everything she said - it has to be him! There’s too many similarities for it to be a coincidence,” Trowa argued. “He looked like an eight year old boy, a child! If it was the same person, he’d be pushing seventy! It couldn’t be the same boy.”

“So what’s the problem? You just said it had to be someone else.”

Trowa shook his head, the questions in his head only reasserting what he knew in his heart: it was the same boy. 

“It was him. I don’t know how, but the boy in her story and the one I met are the same person,” Trowa said firmly.

“So what are you going to do?” Quatre asked, tipping his head. “There has to be a rational explanation.”

“Not one that I can think of,” Trowa chuckled bitterly. “I can’t wrap my head around this. It doesn’t make sense!”

“Maybe it’s not your memory that’s bad, but your grandmother’s, as awful as that sounds,” Quatre said apologetically. “It could be that she’s confusing this boy for someone else. Have you looked into her story? Old newspapers from that time?”

Trowa paused as the new thought took root. Since hearing the story, he had been looking at it from the perspective that he was the one remembering things incorrectly. After all, the memories from a person’s childhood are often warped by inexperience and overactive imaginations. But looking at it from the opposite end of the spectrum, that instead the one with the unreliable information might be Nonnie, shed new light on his tangled mess of emotions.

It was very possible, and a far more likely scenario than ghosts or any other supernatural phenomena.

Nonnie still had a sharp mind, and often remembered facts and dates from recent years. But, after over sixty years, it was very likely that she had mixed details from different stories without realizing her mistake. 

He may not be wrong at all.

He grinned at Quatre, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest. “You’re right. I hadn’t considered that.”

Quatre returned the look, grabbing his drink to tip at Trowa. “See? I’m you own pocket shrink. As repayment for my services, you can buy my next drink.”

Trowa laughed, then raised his glass, tipping it as well. “Deal.”

The rest of their Friday night was spent the same as it often was, over drinks and one of the dated pool tables in the back of the pub. Trowa left for his apartment late that night with a warm buzz and a significantly lighter step, now that the weight had been lifted. He went to bed confident that a simple search would yield him the answers he sought, and confirm the theory Quatre had presented.

The next morning, Trowa settled on his couch with a mug of coffee and opened his laptop, determined to get to the bottom of the story of the missing boys and move on. However, after an hour of fruitless searching online, he decided to make the trip down to the library. There was a good chance that due to the age of the records, there were only physical copies. 

Disappointed by his search, he set out, undaunted nonetheless. Levoile was a small town, tiny by most accounts. As such, their records had probably never been digitized, most likely due to budget and manpower issues, and that it likely sat low on the priority list.

With some assistance from one of the librarians, he located the newspapers from Levoile, and Trowa began the hunt, flipping through pages and pages of old newspapers, neatly bound in large binders. Since Nonnie hadn’t given an exact date, Trowa decided to narrow his search based her age. She had mentioned being in the same class as the older of the two, Solomon, who had been twelve. After some quick math, he set the date range for sixty five years ago, and worked his way forward.

As he skimmed the pages, he began to notice a pattern. He frowned, flipping back a few months to a similar article, then rose, looking around for a paper and pencil. After locating some on a nearby desk, he set to work noting his findings, his curiosity rising with each new article.

Children had gone missing in Levoile.

Hours rolled by, and he took breaks long enough to grab a coffee and snack from the first floor cafe before returning to his research, his paper filling with dates, names, and details as he flipped through pages of papers. He made notes of the page numbers in order to print off copies to take home.

Finally, he closed the last binder for that year, dropping his pencil to scrub both hands over his face, rolling his shoulders as the ache made itself known. After just a year, Levoile had nine children go missing. With each additional article, the tone of the reporting became more and more frantic as desperation and fear gripped the tiny town. No one knew what was happening to their children, and from what he could gather, the police had been unable to find any clues.

“Sir?”

Trowa jumped, turning quickly, only to find on of the librarians standing behind him. “Sorry, did you need something?” Trowa asked.

“We’re about to close,” she said.

Trowa blinked, gasping as he glanced at his watch. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t notice the time.” He quickly gathered the binders, nodding his thanks when she helped carry them to their shelf. He collected his papers and, after a final apology, left for his apartment.

Quatre’s theory about Nonnie mixing up her story was sounding more and more plausible with each article he found, but now he was curious about the additional missing children. The bayou has always been a dangerous place, something the locals treat with respect and caution. It was very possible that one or two of the children had been lost to the murky depths, but so many in such a short time was more than a little suspicious. 

Trowa settled on his couch as he reviewed his notes, frowning at the sparce notations. Over the course of a year, nine children had gone missing. He would need copies of the articles to be sure, but it was already looking as though the town had been plagued by something or someone targeting children.

He planned on returning to the library tomorrow, but aside from searching for the Maxwell boys, he had a broader goal in mind. 

With that, he prepared for sleep, and went to bed.

The next morning, he set off, picking up where he left off. He made copies of the articles he had noted the day before, before continuing on his hunt for the boys, keeping track of any additional children that went missing. 

The tone of the newspapers grew more and more alarmed, understandably so. With each passing month, more children went missing, with no resolution to the previous year’s cases. The reporters grew more critical of the police’s efforts to locate the missing children, and the editorials were filled with angry and concerned townspeople alongside heartfelt pleas from the parents. 

It was buried deep within the pages of the papers that Trowa found the article he was looking for, a mention of the Maxwells. 

He straightened in his seat, rolling his sore and tight shoulders as he squinted at the faded text to read the brief paragraph. 

_ On June 22, two boys, Solomon and Dominic Maxwell, went missing in the bayou of Levoile. Their disappearances were not immediately noticed, as they were not reported missing by their father, Benedict Maxwell, until such time that the menfolk of the town took action. Should anyone know of their whereabouts, please contact the Levoile Police Department immediately.  _

Trowa blinked at the text, then flipped back a page and skimmed the articles, then forward, searching for more information. That couldn’t be it.

He quickly made a copy of the page, then renewed his search for additional information. Eventually, he came across a picture, a face he knew all too well, the old, grainy image enough to freeze the air in his chest.

It was a news extra that listed all of the children who had gone missing since the beginning of the previous year, complete with pictures and a short paragraph stating when they had disappeared. At the end of the list was a pair now familiar to him, and a face that destroyed any alternate theories.

The face of Dominic “Duo” Maxwell stared up at him from the yellowed newspaper page, his expression serious, the hallmark of a bygone age, but all too recognizable. Despite the black and once-white image, Trowa could picture the deep purple of his eyes, the shifting browns of his long, bound hair, the pale hue of his skin. 

Nonnie had not been mistaken.

It was the same boy.

Trowa closed his eyes and focused on breathing, his thoughts and doubts crashing back to the forefront with renewed vigor. He didn’t know what to think. 

Here in the middle of New Orleans, he had evidence that the boy he had played with, had shared his food with, was actually a child who had gone missing sixty three years ago, a boy who, by all accounts, should be dead, or at the very least, old enough to be admitted to an assisted living home.

Instead, he had been out adventuring throughout the Bayou with an equally rambunctious child, showing Trowa the secret paths and hidden rooms, forgotten passages and hideouts. 

He had set out to find evidence to dispel his theories, and instead, had proven them.

Trowa grabbed the binder, making his way to the printer with renewed focus. He needed to talk to Quatre, but he needed as much evidence as possible to back his wild theory if he ever hoped to be taken seriously.

His task complete, he spent the rest of the day combing through the remaining papers for the year, printing out every mention of the missing children or the Maxwells in his effort to make some sense of an impossible situation.

He left the library just before close; he had set an alarm on his phone just to make sure. The trip back to his apartment was a blur of names and questions, of self doubt and skepticism. 

What did he hope to gain by doing all this research? Peace of mind? So far, all it had given him was more of a tangled web to unravel, pulling him further down into the quagmire.

After stopping for takeout, Trowa shuffled into his apartment, tired and stiff, but determined to, at the very least, get his thoughts in order so he could sleep.

He cleared his coffee table and spread the papers out, setting a box of chinese food in the corner alongside a bottle of beer from the fridge, then leaned against his couch, staring blankly at the pages.

Where did he even begin?

He took a sip from his beer, then leaned forward to get to work.

***

Trowa woke with a start, blinking blearily around the room as he tried to process what had woken him. The pounding began again, insistent and loud, and he rolled as he sat up, scrubbing his face as he yawned. It was way too bright to be early morning.

His stomach suddenly dropped, and he lunged for his phone, tossing it on the couch cushions with a groan when he realized what time it was.

The pounding returned with renewed force, and Trowa pushed himself to his feet to stumble to the door. He pulled it open without glancing through the peephole.

He knew who was on the other side.

“Give me one good reason why I’m covering for your ass,” Quatre said, arms crossed lightly at his waist, his weight shifted to the side. 

“Good morning,” Trowa answered, stepping back to let him in. Quatre rolled his eyes and came inside, shrugging off his jacket as Trowa closed the door.

“Afternoon, technically,” 

Trowa followed him into the living room, pausing to stretch as Quatre looked over the mess of papers arranged on the coffee table, dotted with Chinese food containers and beer bottles.

“Rough night?” Quatre looked up at him, waiting patiently when Trowa nodded absently as he made his way into the kitchen. He quickly splashed some water on his face and wiped it off with a hand towel before returning.

“I’m glad you’re here. I don’t think I could have waited until this afternoon.”

“For what? Don’t tell me you pulled an all nighter looking into your grandma’s story.” When Trowa remained silent, Quatre sighed and sat in one of the unclaimed chairs. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“What about work?” Trowa asked. He sat on the couch and reached for his phone.

“I told them you hadn’t been feeling well over the weekend and probably slept in. At least now I can say I hadn’t lied.”

Trowa had the grace to look sheepish. “Thanks. I didn’t mean to skip. I just got carried away.”

Quatre nodded to the table. “Clearly.” He settled back in his chair and looked at Trowa expectantly. “Out with it.”

“Nonnie wasn’t wrong.”

Quatre blinked, opening his mouth a moment before closing it. He closed his eyes, then spoke. “You’re going to have to clarify.”

Trowa leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You were right that it was possible she had mixed up details from different stories, but I know she didn’t.” He reached for page with the collected pictures, the names of each child echoing in his head as he glanced at their faces. He handed it to Quatre and pointed to the image that had been seared into his mind.

“That is Dominic ‘Duo’ Maxwell, the boy I played with in the bayou.”

Quatre, to his credit, didn’t immediately dismiss his claim. He studied the pictures, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

“You’re sure it’s the same boy,” he finally asked, handing the paper back.

“Without a doubt,” Trowa intoned. “He and his brother went missing roughly sixty three years ago, the last in a string of disappearances in the town over the span of two years.”

“There were others?” Quatre leaned forward, looking over the papers with renewed interest. “Possible kidnappers?”

Trowa nodded. “A total of thirteen children went missing. So far, I’ve only looked at newspapers, but from what  I can tell, the police were never able to figure out what happened to them, and there were no suspects. They just vanished.”

“But it is possible that she mixed up her information,” Quatre said reasonably, glancing at Trowa. “If she was just a kid during this, and with so many of her potential classmates disappearing - they look like they’re all around the same age, right?” When Trowa nodded, he continued, “Then it’s even more likely that she was incorrect.”

Trowa shook his head, unconvinced.

Quatre sighed. “Alright, what about the possibility of other siblings. Maybe you played with a descendent who happens to look exactly like the boy in the picture.”

“No other siblings are listed, and they had a single father. Actually, all of the children taken were from single parent homes, whether mother or father, and were an only child, or in the Maxwell case, both children went missing.” Trowa frowned as he stared across the table, his gaze unfocused. “There’s something else going on here.”

Quatre watched him carefully. “Now that you have all this information, what are you going to do with it?”

“I need to go to Levoile,” Trowa answered, his eyes still distant. 

“And do what? Investigate this yourself? Search for a seventy year old child? Present your findings to the authorities?”

“I don't know, alright?” Trowa snapped, glaring at Quatre. “All I know is that this is driving me insane! The more I dig into it, the less sense it makes. I should have just left the whole thing be; not even bothered with Nonnie’s story, but now it won’t leave me alone.”

He heaved a sigh, flopping back into the seat cushions. “I can’t get this out of my head.”

They fell silent, each lost in their thoughts until Quatre sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

Trowa watched him with a frown. “What are you doing?”

“Giving us both an excuse to miss work for the next week,” Quatre said as he tapped on the screen, then raised it to his ear, his eyes fixed on the table. “God knows you’re not going to be a functioning human being until this is resolved.”

Before Trowa could answer, Quatre raised a hand, cutting him off. 

“Melissa? Please clear my schedule for the rest of the week. I’ve had some business come up that I need to take care of. It should be resolved by this time next week.” He paused, then nodded to himself. “Thank you. And while you’re at it, please mark Trowa Barton down for sick leave for the remainder of the week. Yes, I’ve spoken with him… Yes… Thank you.”

He ended the call, and dropped his phone in his lap to look at Trowa, his expression smug. “You owe me so much alcohol.”

Trowa chuckled as he shook his head. “An entire week? Do you think that’s necessary?”

Quatre shrugged. “It may be; I honestly don’t know. But if it isn’t, that just means you get to enjoy the rest of your impromptu vacation.”

Trowa smirked. “Hard to argue with that logic.” He sobered, holding Quatre’s gaze. “Thank you, honestly. You don’t have to go with me.”

“And miss this?” Quatre snorted. “You desperately need a voice of reason, and I’m not passing up the chance to take a break from work. But, I have one condition,” Quatre raised a finger, then pointed it at Trowa. “We are not staying in your house.”

Trowa barked a surprised laugh. “What? Why not?”

“Because this is a vacation, which means relaxing, which means spending my free time and nights with a certain level of comfort, which  _ means _ ,” he emphasized, shaking his finger at him. “I’m sleeping in a goddamn bed, not some sleeping bag on the floor.”

Trowa shook with renewed laughter, then finally settled down enough to speak. “Fine, fine, you’ve got a deal.”

“Excellent, and on that note,” Quatre rose, snatching his phone from his lap, then began tapping again as he walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” Trowa leaned his head over the back of the couch as he watched him.

“I imagine you’ll want to leave immediately. Pick me up at my place in an hour. I have to pack.” After slipping on his jacket, Quatre tossed him a wave, then left.

Trowa sat bonelessly as silence filled the room, still trying to process the recent chain of events. He had confided in Quatre not only because he would actually listen, but also for his unwavering ability to be Trowa’s voice of reason. He had expected Quatre to listen, nod every now and then, and then tear his theory apart with his usual brutal efficiency.

Instead, he had listened and even entertained Trowa’s idea, going to far as use his position at work - it really paid to know the owner’s son - to give Trowa the time to investigate on his own. He was even making the trip to Trowa’s childhood town, something Trowa had never even fathomed.

But he was going back.

Back to the root of the problem, the source of mystery, barely daring to hope that he’ll find anything to clear his mind. Everything was stacked against him, and time was his greatest enemy in his hunt.

Sixty three years was a long time. People, records, and memories were either dead, missing, or forgotten, making the search for information very nearly impossible. It would be an uphill battle from the start, and a week was an unrealistic amount of time to search if he truly intended to start a thorough investigation, something he had no experience doing.

But he couldn’t let it go.

It was one thing for his own peace of mind, to solve the mystery of the boy who had led Trowa home thirteen years ago, but there were thirteen children whose lives ended before they had even begun. They deserved, if only for their memories, some sort of closure.

Trowa shoved himself off the couch with renewed focus, striding across the room to his bedroom to pack. He then gathered up the papers, collecting them neatly into a notebook, and stowed them in a backpack.

He paused at the door, taking one last glance around his apartment, running over the checklist in his head in case he forgot anything. Satisfied, he left, locking the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The extent of my knowledge of French extends to Google Translate.
> 
> Levoile = The Veil


	4. Chapter 4

_ They called us crazy 'cause we never fit in _ _   
_ _ We never thought of keeping up with their trends _

**_Levoile_ **

Trowa dropped his bag on the bed, stretching as Quatre did the same on the second bed. They had arrived late, but Quatre had managed to book them a room in the local bed and breakfast for the week, which was fortunately located just a few miles from his house, just on the edge of town.

The pair quickly settled in for bed, exhausted from the trip and late hour.

The next morning, dressed and ready, they sat down for breakfast in the dining room, nodding their thanks when a plate of home cooked bacon, eggs, and toast was set before them.

“I assume you have a plan in mind,” Quatre said as he dug into his breakfast.

Trowa nodded as he worked on his own. “First stop is the library. They might have more records about the disappearances.”

Quatre nodded. “And after that?”

Trowa paused, staring at his plate as he toyed with an idea. “Well, I was thinking of just… asking around town, seeing if anyone remembers the incidents or have heard of them.”

“Just stopping people on the street?” Quatre munched on a piece of bacon, chewing thoughtfully. “Seems kind of hit or miss.”

“If there’s one thing all small towns have in common, it’s a healthy rumor mill,” Trowa said flatly, stabbing at his eggs. “Add in an unsolved case, and there won’t be a single person who hasn’t heard the story. The hard part will be sorting the facts from the tall tales.”

“Well then, let’s get started.”

They finished up their breakfast, and after a quick word with the owner, a pleasant, old woman with short, lavender dyed curly hair, left with tall cups of coffee. Trowa stopped by the room long enough to grab his notebook, though he left his papers behind.

Trowa drove them to the library, a tiny building nestled on a street lined with similar old buildings. They pulled up in front, Quatre pausing to investigate the old parking meter, then made their way inside.

A large, middle-aged black woman sat behind the counter, singing softly to herself as she sorted through a stack of books. She glanced up at the delicate chime that marked their arrival, her face splitting into a wide smile.

“Morning, boys,” she greeted as she stood to lean on the counter. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Good morning,” Trowa answered. “My friend and I are looking into a string of missing children cases from about sixty five years ago. Do you know where we can find any records related to their disappearances?”

Her face fell as she shook her head, clicking her tongue. “Oh boys, I assume you’ve already done some homework.”

Trowa exchanged a quick glance with Quatre, who shrugged slightly. “We have, up in New Orleans.”

She continued to shake her head as she came around the counter and passed between them, walking towards the entry doors. “You won’t find anything else here. Everything we’ve got, they’ve got. If you really want a story, you gotta ask the crew.”

They hesitated, standing awkwardly at the counter, unsure of who or what she meant.

She pushed open the door, then looked back at them. “Are y’all coming or not?”

They quickly moved to follow. She marched down the few stairs to the street, walking quickly to an unknown destination.

“Do we need to get the car?” Trowa asked, glancing back to where he was parked.

“No need,” she answered, waving dismissively over her shoulder. “It’s just ‘round the corner.”

The trio made the short trek down the main drag and turned the corner at the intersection of a smaller road. She stopped after only a few steps, planting her hands on her hips as she looked down at a group of men sitting on a bench.

“These boys need ta speak ta y’all,” she said, jerking her head to Trowa and Quatre, who had stopped a couple steps behind. “They wanna know about the thirteen childs.”

“Jezzie, ain’t you supposed to be workin’?” One of the men chided, pointing his cane at her. “What if someone decides to steal a book while you’re out patrolling the streets?”

“Then I’ll chase ‘em down myself,” she answered. “Lord knows only a few folks in this town can read. Makes it easy to narrow down the search.”

“She gotcha there, Williams,” another man said as the men roared with laughter, much to Williams’ annoyance.

“Laugh it up, Barnes. We all know which side of the equation you sit on.”

Trowa glanced between the townsfolk and Quatre, doubt written in every line of his body. He had hoped to find more concrete information to work with, more clues or details that may have been glossed over or left out by the newspaper, but it seems his plans had been dashed from the start.

“Someone get these boys a seat. They’re gonna be here a while,” another man turned and waved through a doorway, which Trowa just noticed led to a small diner. “Rita! We need a couple chairs.”

A young woman, most likely late twenties, with long, bright red hair leaned around the doorframe, squinting in the morning sun. “What do you need more chairs for? I can’t move the diner out here for ya, ya know.”

“Just some chairs, dear. We can’t have a decent conversation if half the talkers are standin’.”

She rolled her eyes, then disappeared back inside. 

“Boys, it was a pleasure meetin’ ya,” Jezzie turned and smiled at them. “If you need anything else, just ask for Jezzie. I know everyone in this town.”

“And their business,” Williams grumbled, earning a glare from Jezzie over her shoulder.

“Thank you for your help,” Quatre interjected, smiling warmly at the older woman. She smiled back, batting her eyelashes at him, then left them with the crew. Just as she left, the young woman emerged from the diner with two chairs and set them on the sidewalk, rolling her eyes when the men thanked her.

“Just have ‘em haul them inside when you’re done,” she said as she returned to her work.

Trowa hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t the best when it came to social interactions, especially ones he had been thrust into unprepared, but that was where Quatre excelled. The blond stepped forward with a smile and arranged the chairs in a sort of half circle in front of the bench, leaving enough room behind them for people to walk past, not that there were any patrons out and about.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us,” he said as he sat, motioning for Trowa to join him. “My name is Quatre, and this is my friend Trowa. We’re here to learn more about the string of disappearances that occurred roughly sixty three, sixty four years ago.”

“You mean those kids, the thirteen childs,” the first man said, nodding solemnly. “I remember them. Scary time, that was. Never knew who was going to vanish next.”

Trowa flipped open his notebook, then pulled out his phone to open a recording app. He tapped the start just as the men introduced themselves.

The first man to speak, Williams, was small and hunched with short, dark grey hair that sat in tight rings against his head, contrasting against his light brown skin. Beside him was Barnes, sitting tall and straight backed, with a thinning high and tight haircut over tanned, leathery skin. His face was carved with laugh lines, and his eyes were crinkled with crows feet, so he always seemed to be smiling at some secret joke. Their last companion was Randy, heavier set than his friends, but his white hair was thick, sticking out at wild angles from his head.

“What brings you boys to these parts?” Randy asked, resting both hands on the head of his cane. 

Trowa chewed on his answer. He knew the question would come up; people don’t just ask about missing kids from over half a century ago, but he was reluctant to reveal too much about his search to strangers. He had decided to leave his personal ties at the bare minimum.

“My grandmother recently told me a story about a couple of boys she knew who went missing when she was a child,” Trowa said. “The Maxwell brothers.”

The three men perked up, with Williams even leaning forward. “Your grandma you say? What was her name?”

“Bridgette Mouton.”

“Oh my gawd, you’re kiddin’ me!” Williams slapped his knee, a smile stretched from ear to ear. “I had the biggest crush on her as a child. Why I remember one day on the school grounds-”

“Ain’t nobody want to hear about your escapades chasing the poor boy’s grandma,” Randy cut in, leaning around Barnes, who was shaking his head. He turned to Trowa with a wink. “She was a looker though. One day, we were out walkin’-”

“Either shut your trap or get to the point. At this rate you'll be dead in your grave before you even get halfway through your nonsensical ramblings!” Williams interrupted, gesturing wildly with his free hand. “I can feel the end creeping up just listening to ya.”

“Then hold your breath, ya ol’ coot. Save us all the trouble of waitin’.” Barnes snapped, before turning back to Trowa, smile back on his face. “Beggin your pardon.”

Trowa smiled weakly at him, elbowing Quatre when he turned away to cough, his shoulders shaking conspicuously.

“So you also knew the brothers?” Trowa asked, glancing between them.

“Them and the others,” Barnes confirmed with a frown. “They weren’t all the same grade; back then we had one school house and we all piled in together, so everyone knew everyone else.”

“Scary times, it was,” Randy picked up, nodding as the others grunted in agreement. “No one knew who was gonna be next, and our poor sheriff didn’t know what to do. I remember, they called in some folks from New Orleans to help out, patrolling and such.”

“And the curfew! Remember? Nine PM sharp!” Williams said, slashing his hand across his body. 

“Did they have any idea what was happening or any clues, theories?” Trowa asked.

The men shook their heads, pursing their lips as they thought. “Nah,” Williams said, tapping his cane once. “But the townsfolk had plenty of theories. The worst was a serial killer, snatching up kids, doing who knows what to ‘em.”

“They ain’t never found any evidence of that,” Barnes interjected. “But I’ll tell ya, that’s the best theory anyone had. Any others ya heard just got more wild from there. Why, I heard anything from a drifter to voodoo-”

“Everyone blames voodoo!” Randy said angrily. He scowled at Barnes. “Bunch of ignorant fools spouting nonsense is what that was.” He turned looked back to Trowa, his scowl lessened, but still present. “The police only had one lead that connected them all together.”

Beside him, Quatre tensed, and Trowa held his breath, his suspicion rising. He had found a connection as well, one that hadn’t been remarked upon directly in the papers, but yet another recurring theme throughout his research. 

“They were all changelings.”

Silence met Randy’s grave statement. Trowa very nearly deflated and glanced at Quatre, who looked as confused as he felt. Surely they didn’t mean actual changelings, supernatural creatures who took on the appearance of humans. 

“Um, I’m sorry, we’re not sure what that means,” Quatre said, looking sheepish. 

“Now you’ve gone and creeped out the boys,” Williams scoffed at Randy as he rolled his eyes. “You and your dramatic nonsense. Look,” he leaned forward on his cane, staring them down. “Changeling just means you’re from a family with one parent, nothing more.”

Trowa tensed, the simplified explanation reaffirming what he had found. The missing children were all from single parent homes.

“Seems like an odd thing to call a child in a different living situation,” Quatre said lightly, his smile open and easy. 

“Oh, that goes way back,” Barnes said, crossing his arms over his chest. “The story goes that a child of a single parent, usually the mother, but could be father too, was the result of them laying with one of the Fae Folk. The parent smuggled them away so they could grow up like a normal child.”

“So the child was considered half-fae?” Quatre tipped his head in confusion, his expression matching Trowa’s.

“Nah, it was just a story to help the kids handle having only one parent,” Barnes shook his head. “Didn’t mean anything by it, just a boost, make ‘em feel better.”

“Kids will be kids, though,” Randy mumbled.

“But all the kids,” Trowa said, his heart thrumming in his chest with barely contained excitement. “They were all ‘changelings’, came from single parent households?”

When they nodded, Trowa let out a breath, holding back a grin as one point of his research was independently confirmed. That meant whoever had taken the children worked within certain parameters.

“The Maxwells you mentioned earlier,” Williams said, relaxing back in his seat. “They were the last ones to disappear, though no one noticed at first.”

Barnes scoffed as Randy closed his eyes and shook his head, tutting to himself.

“Their father was the meanest man to ever walk these streets,” Williams continued. “He’d drink at the bar till he was thrown out, cussing and spitting in the street, then go home and drink himself into a stupor. The older boy, Solomon, sometimes came into school black and blue, but never the younger.” His gaze turned distant as he looked back through his memories. “Lil Dom never had a scratch on ‘em.”

“Good kids, those two,” Barnes added. “Shame they had to live with that ol’ spit. Hate to say it, but maybe they’re better off, with what happened.”

Trowa bit back a retort as anger surged through him. From the corner of his eye, Quatre looked pained, his lips pressed in a firm line.

“What do you think happened to them?” Trowa asked, pushing his anger aside.

“Me? I think it was a serial killer,” Williams said, ignoring the others’ scoffs of disbelief. “I know there ain’t any evidence, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“I think they got pulled into the bayou by some voodoo ritualist who lives deep in the swamp,” Barnes nodded firmly. “They all disappeared in there, but everyone and their mother grew up walking those trails, playing in those woods. The only way they got lost in there is if someone lured them in, someone who knows the paths better than anyone in town.”

“They don't have to know voodoo to know the paths!” Randy said angrily, scowling at his friend. “And if was a serial killer, then it would of had to have been drifter, which people would of noticed, which means they wouldn’t know the safe paths in the bayou. But if they did know the paths, then it’s someone in town, and lord knows, there ain’t no secrets in this place.”

Williams leaned across Barnes to glare back at him. “Alright, if you’re so smart, what got ‘em? Hm? Who took ‘em kids?”

“Someone who lives in the bayou, but I seriously doubt they practiced voodoo,” Randy answered firmly. “They’re dead and gone by now, mark my words.”

“You can’t know that-”

“What you got against voodoo-”

“Ain’t nobody know everyone else’s secrets-”

Quatre and Trowa looked at each other, shifting uncomfortably in their seats as the discussion dissolved into a shouting match, complete with shaking both fists and canes, earning more than a few curious looks from the few people out and about.

“What the  _ hell _ are all y’all coots yellin’ ‘bout this time?” Rita stormed out of the diner, serving tray in hand. “Quit yer belly achin’ or I’ll knock some sense into y’all myself!”

The trio stopped yelling, mumbling their apologies under her harsh glare. She watched them a moment longer, then turned to Trowa with a smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. They’re all yours.”

Trowa thanked her, then returned his attention to the men, who all looked a bit sheepish. “Thank you all for your time,” Trowa said, stopping his recording as he closed up his notebook, ignoring the blank pages. “You’ve been a huge help.”

“Anytime, son!” Williams said brightly, any signs of last minute’s disagreement gone, the other two nodding in agreeance. “Feel free to come back anytime. We’re always here.”

“Our asses have long been embedded in the seats,” Randy joked, adding his laughter to the men.

Quatre rose with a smile, then the two took their chairs back inside the diner, thanking Rita for letting them borrow them. She waved off their thanks as they left, nodding one last time to the old men as they backtracked to their car.

They walked in silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts, digesting what they had learned from the old timers. As they stopped beside the car, Quatre cleared his throat, catching Trowa’s attention.

“I’m going to speak with Jezzie about a couple things, see if I can find some police records or files.”

Trowa nodded, then glanced around the street. There were a few other cars parked along the road with a people walking down the sidewalks, minding their own business.

“I think I’ll try to talk to a few more people,” Trowa replied, his eyes landing on the sign for a rundown bar across the street. “I’ll meet you back here later, say, a couple hours?”

“Sure, good luck.” 

The two parted ways, with Trowa jogging across the street. He made his way to the bar, casually glancing at the door to catch the hours. After making a note, he set off to find others to talk to and explore the tiny town of his childhood.

He was immediately struck by how little he remembered. Growing up, his mother had made a point to send them beyond the confines of the tiny town, going so far as to shop at the nearest large town and sending both him and his sister to school the next district over. Any trips into the single lane town were either done without them at all, or were extremely brief, with Trowa and Cathy left to entertain themselves in the car.

His view had always been framed by the car window, so much so that it was almost surreal to actually walk down the street. 

After making a lap that encompassed the entirety of Main Street, Trowa focused on finding any locals who were willing to speak to him about the missing children.

After a few long and fruitless hours, he trudged back to the car. He opened the driver door and sat down with a sigh, sprawled bonelessly in his seat. He stayed like that until Quatre emerged from the library, alternating between rubbing his eyes and shoulders. Quatre pulled open the passenger door and sat down heavily, sprawled in a similar fashion.

“I take it your hunt didn’t go very well,” Quatre finally said, sounding like every word spoken required energy he didn’t have.

“I could say the same for you,” Trowa replied, rolling his head toward his friend. “No luck?”

“The police records are all kept at the courthouse, not the library, but lucky for me, the courthouse is located on the second floor,” Quatre said flatly, sounding anything but. “Unfortunately, because the records were all moved from the old courthouse, nothing was actually put in order, so it’s all just mounds of boxes stacked anywhere there’s a flat surface.”

Trowa grimaced, flopping his hand across the center console to pat his arm. “Talking to people around here is pointless. Everyone either has their own theory about what happened, or don’t know what I’m talking about, or just rehash what we already heard.”

“Basically a bunch of nothing,” Quatre sighed.

“The bar is open,” Trowa suggested, earning a look from Quatre as he rolled his head, matching Trowa’s efforts. 

“Really? It’s what, two in the afternoon?”

“So? At this point, we’ve got nothing better to do.”

Quatre sighed heavily, his eyes falling shut. “Is it far? I don’t want to move.”

Trowa snorted. “This is as far as the town goes,” he said, gesturing around him. “It’s across the street.”

“What the hell, let’s go.”

The pair gathered up what little energy they had left and wandered across the road. They stepped into the obligatory dark establishment, taking a moment for their eyes to adjust to the false gloom. Despite the hour, the bar already held a few occupants, most likely regulars who had nothing better to do.

“You know what, I’m gonna pull my standards card.”

Trowa leveled a look at Quatre, his mouth falling open. “Really? Of all the places we’ve ever drank at, this is where you draw the line?”

Quatre sniffed at him as he turned up his nose. “I’m going back to the room and taking a long nap.”

“You’re just gonna leave me here? To drink by myself like some sorry schmuck?” 

“I’ll pick you up later,” Quatre waved over his shoulder as he left. “Have fun!”

Trowa stood in the doorway, gaping at the closed door. After a minute of glaring without his blond friend being present to appreciate it, Trowa internally sighed and decided to just go for it. If anything, it would allow him to brood in peace over everything he’d learned.

He sat down at the bar, signaling to the bartender as he heaved a sigh, dropping his notebook to the counter. He ordered his go-to drink, using the burst of alcohol to loosen up his mind and hopefully shake up a new perspective.

He nodded his thanks and hunched over his drink, sipping it slowly as he went over the conversations from that morning.

"They all say the same thing."

Trowa glanced to his left, where a grizzled old man watched him with sharp, dark eyes that glistened against his dark skin. 

"What's that?" Trowa asked, his curiosity winning over his caution.

"Ghosts, voodoo, spirits, nah." The man shook his head, then leaned forward, pointing a finger at Trowa's chest. "They all know the truth, but they're all afraid to say it."

Trowa glanced to the bartender, but he was further down the counter, out of earshot. He looked back at the man, turning to face him. "How do you know?"

"You're looking for kids, right? Ones who've gone missing in the bayou."

Trowa narrowed his eyes, tensing in his seat.

"I wasn't listening in," the man reassured. "Word travels fast round here. Wasn't hard to put two and two together."

Trowa studied him a moment longer, then grabbed his drink and notebook as he slid off his seat, tipping his head for the man to follow. He led him to an empty booth away from most of the patrons, and slid into one side as the man settled into the other. He opened the notebook as he pulled out a pen, setting up his phone to record. Once ready, he hit record and looked up at the man.

"Let's start with your name."

"Jebediah Honor, though most folks call me Jeb."

"Trowa Barton. I bought the house at the end of Prickett Lane."

Jeb cracked a smile, his teeth bright white. "Folks were wondering who had snatched up that ol’ thing."

"I grew up there," Trowa said, somehow feeling the need to explain his reasoning to a man he had just met.

"So you've been around the bayou."

"Yes."

“Good, cuz the last thing those kids need are more people rollin’ up here looking for a sob story,” Jeb said harshly. “They were taken from their homes and deserve some respect for what they've gone through.”

“You know what happened to them?” Trowa asked with a frown.

“It's been going on for decades, a constant problem in these parts, but no one wants to acknowledge it.” Jeb leaned forward, glancing around the room before locking eyes with Trowa, whispering harshly. “It's the fae folk.”

Trowa blinked at him, once again caught off balance by the townsfolk insistence. “I'm sorry?”

“You know, the fae folk, faeries, the fair folk, modern day elves, whatever else you call it,” Jeb elaborated, his urgency cutting through his harsh whispers.

“Faeries,” Trowa repeated slowly. If he wasn’t looking for hard evidence and facts, he would be fascinated by the way the story permeated the town, how almost every person insisted on the existence of faeries, despite their reluctance to state it outright.

“Listen to me with an open mind and you may just learn something,” Jeb scolded, pausing to take a swig of his draft beer.

Trowa shoved his skepticism aside and nodded. “Alright, I'm all ears.”

“First off, you've been asking after the Maxwell boys, right? They weren't the first, but they're the most well known, mostly cuz the whole town watched out for them on account of their daddy,” The older man shook his head slowly. “Mean son of a gun.”

“Kids had been disappearing for a while,” he continued, “one or two a year, nothing that would be considered drastic in a larger town, but round here, it was a crisis. No one could figure out what was happening.”

“I wasn’t aware of a continuing string of disappearances,” Trowa frowned. “I only know about the thirteen that went missing over the course of a year and a half.”

Jeb nodded. “That marked the end, maybe collecting all the kids at once instead of spreading it out. All I know is that after the Maxwell boys, the disappearances stopped.”

Trowa clenched his jaw, his stomach flipping dangerously, threatening to ruin his drinking session.

“During that time, every now and then, reports would come in of sightings of one of the missing kids, or someone would call in claiming their child described a missing child as their imaginary friend, someone they played with in the bayou,” Jeb continued, his voice hushed.

Trowa took of a sip of his drink, his throat suddenly dry as his own childhood was described by a stranger. 

“Most of the time, nothing came of it, but every now and then, that child playing with their imaginary friend would vanish too, gone without a trace.” Jeb said, drawing out the last word with a hiss.

“What was happening is the faeries were snatching children,” he said firmly, nodding to himself.  “Don't ask me what they do with ‘em, but they use them to lure other kids in, becoming their friend and showing them secret places, sharing their food with them, until they had their complete trust. Then, they gave them to the faeries.”

Trowa felt a shiver race down his spine as Jeb’s words bounced in his head, resonating with particular memories until they stood at the forefront of his mind. The moment he had shared his apple with Duo, when Duo had refused to bring any food with him, eating only what Trowa offered. 

Or when Duo had forced him to leave, begging Trowa to run from a hidden threat, helping him escape the bayou’s clutches, keeping him safe from whoever had been after him. If Duo really was working for the faeries, then he had shielded Trowa from the usual rituals that would have led to his capture, and instead risked his life so he could eventually escape. 

Trowa felt a renewed wave of gratitude wash over him, bolstering his flagging willpower and strengthening his resolve. He was going to find Duo, one way or the other. 

Nothing was going to stop him.

“What do you know about the faeries?” Trowa asked. “Anything you can tell me?”

Jeb shook his head. “Nah, they’re a secretive bunch. It’s rare for anyone to see or encounter one, but everyone knows they live deep in the bayou, deeper than any human can safely go. And they’ve been here forever.”

“They’ve always lived in the bayou?”

“This ain’t no chicken or the egg debate,” Jeb replied. “They’ve always been here.”

Trowa chewed on the inside of his cheek, turning over the new information in his head. This morning, he had dismissed the stories of faeries stealing children away, but the more he heard, and from such a variety of people, the more he began to entertain the idea that something was living in the bayou. Perhaps not faeries, but most stories held a grain of truth. 

If he found that truth, maybe he could figure out what had happened to the missing children, and eventually, Duo.

Jeb chugged the rest of his drink, then slammed the glass on the table, startling Trowa from his thoughts.

“I'll leave you to it, boy,” he said, rising to his feet. “Good luck.”

Trowa nodded absently as he stared at the remains of his drink. He slowly drained the contents, then walked out into the afternoon light, squinting as his eyes protested.

Once he could see again, he looked around for his car. When he failed to spot the familiar vehicle, he sat down on one of the benches periodically lining the street and settled in to wait. He assumed Quatre would be back in a couple hours, and having spent an unusually short time inside, Trowa resigned himself to a long wait.

He had plenty of information to mull over, but he quickly found that despite his high tolerance levels, finishing a strong drink on an empty stomach was enough to prevent him from stringing two thoughts together. He dropped his head back with a sigh and closed his eyes, letting his mind drift.

He could think about it later, when he wasn't buzzing, and he had someone to talk to.

If only Quatre would hurry up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live outside a town with population of roughly 800 people. Everyone ACTUALLY knows everyone, and these jokers are based off the morning coffee crew at a little family business where I used to work. They knew everyone else's business and were always a hoot, haha XD


	5. Chapter 5

_ Come out, come out, wherever you are _ _   
_ _ I know you're there, I know you are _

**_Levoile_ **

Trowa had only had to wait an hour before Quatre pulled up. He had hopped in quickly, waved off any questions, then promptly went to bed the moment they stepped into their room, falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

He dreamt of the old paths, of creatures rustling in the underbrush, hiding just beyond his sight, but this time, he wasn’t afraid. As he moved down the trail, the familiar tree came into view, larger and more prominent than he remembered, standing out against the misty surroundings. Something pulled him towards its gracefully arching branches; the wind seemed to push against his back, swirling around his feet, helping him plant each footstep, drawing him closer. 

He paused at the edge of the top step and looked around in confusion. One moment he was on the path, the next, he was braced on the edge of a precipice, a single step separating him from now and then, though he couldn’t figure out why it was so important. 

Just as he reached a decision, he tensed, catching the barest whisper on the wind, the words almost lost in the swirling breeze.

_ Are you lost? _

Trowa woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared at the ceiling, taking a moment to get his bearings, for his memory to catch up with what he was seeing.

He was at the bed and breakfast with Quatre, and judging by the level of darkness in the room, it was late in the evening. Just as he sat up, the door of the room opened, revealing Quatre juggling a bag and a couple drinks. He shoved into the room, bumping his hip against the door to close it, then set his load on the small table against the wall. He glanced up as he opened the bag, grinning when he caught sight of Trowa.

“I thought you were down for the count,” Quatre said. He pulled out a couple wrapped burgers, followed by a large boat of fries. “Rita was very helpful in figuring out what to get for dinner.”

Trowa pushed off the bed, his stomach and curiosity dispelling any remaining bleary feeling. “She’s still working?”

Quatre pointed to Trowa’s burger and passed him his drink. “She said she had to work a double today.”

“I hope you tipped her well.” Trowa unwrapped his burger, closing his eyes in appreciation once he took his first bite.

“I always tip well,” Quatre huffed as he munched on a fry. The pair ate in comfortable silence, finishing their greasy dinners quickly, then settled back in their chairs, sipping their drinks.

“Before you pass out again,” Quatre smirked, ignoring Trowa’s look, “What’s our plan for tomorrow?”

“We’re going to the house,” Trowa said without hesitation. 

“No more investigating?” Quatre arched an eyebrow.

“There’s nothing else we can get from them,” Trowa shook his head. “Everyone says the same thing; blames it on some supernatural being or event. The prevailing theory is faeries, believe it or not.”

“Really? Because there seemed to be some debate about whether the culprit was more on the human side.”

“Either way, it will help you get a better sense of what we’re dealing with if you can see where they may have vanished,” Trowa said, fiddling with his drink.

“Visit the scene of the crime,” Quatre said slyly, watching Trowa. “Where you saw Duo.”

“We have to start somewhere,” Trowa defended. “It’s the only lead we have.”

Quatre huffed a laugh. “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you want to go looking for him so badly.”

Trowa chose that moment to take a drink, hoping his blush wasn't too obvious.

Quatre chuckled. “Besides, I'm curious to see how much progress you've made.”

Trowa took the opening for what it was, smiling gratefully. “Don't get your hopes up.”

The pair finished and cleaned up their food, then got ready for bed. 

Trowa laid down and stared at the ceiling, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He was nervous, anxious, excited to finally return to the bayou. He had forgotten how it called to him, even after all these years. At the same time, he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

He wasn’t going back with anything more concrete than he had over a week ago. More knowledge, and a deeper appreciation for the history and story, but knowledge didn’t change the fact that  _ all _ he had was a story. There was nothing to point him in the right direction, no clues or hints about Duo or the children. 

He didn’t even know where the Maxwell’s once lived. Without a point of reference, he could be looking in an area miles away from where they had disappeared.

Despite all that, Trowa still felt like he had to return. The pull was too great, the need to keep searching too strong to ignore. 

Quatre was right to be surprised about abandoning the investigation in town so soon. Now that they were so close, Trowa felt restless. He couldn’t explain why, but he knew the answers lay within the bayou.

He just had to find them.

Trowa closed his eyes, breathing slowly as he willed himself to relax. The sooner he went to sleep, the sooner the day would come.

***

Early the next morning, they drove to the house in silence. Trowa pulled the car up to the front, then switched off the car and leaned back in his seat. Quatre looked out the window to survey the house.

“It doesn’t look nearly as bad as the pictures,” he finally said, turning to Trowa. “Looks like my investment is paying off already.”

Trowa rolled his eyes, smirking at Quatre laughter as he got out of the car. After a moment, Quatre emerged, still smiling from his joke.

“Can you give me a tour?”

Trowa gestured grandly toward the stairs. “Lead on. I’ll give you the grand tour of this fine estate.”

They crossed the front yard and up the stairs to the wide front porch. Quatre stepped aside to let Trowa unlock the door, then followed him inside. From there, Trowa led him around the old plantation-style house, pointing out each room and a snippet or memory of his time living there.

They ended in his old room, and Trowa looked out the window, his gaze automatically seeking out the old cypress tree. Quatre joined him, looking out across the wide yard. 

“It’s nice to be able to put a place with the stories you’ve shared,” Quatre said with a smile. “I’ll admit, I’m a bit jealous.”

Trowa blinked and looked at him in confusion. “Jealous? What do you have to be jealous about?”

Quatre’s gaze was distant as he stared out the window. “Memories, I suppose. I didn’t have the freedom you did; everything had to be held to some standard that was always just beyond my reach.” He scoffed bitterly. “Even now.”

“Stop,” Trowa ordered as he grabbed Quatre’s arm, forcing him to turn and look at him. “You have done way more anyone else I know. You’re running his company, for God’s sake. You helped Cathy and me get our house back. You-” Trowa looked around, gesturing around him in exasperation. “We’re on  _ vacation _ ! Because of you and your willingness to listen to my wild ramblings.”

Quatre chuckled, smiling brightly up at him. “Thank you. I almost forgive you for bringing up my poorly fated fencing match.”

Trowa squeezed his arm once then walked away, smirking over his shoulder. “I’m never letting you forget that.”

He led Quatre down the back stairs, remembering the way he used to race down them to throw himself out the back door, many times nearly face planting in the grass in his haste down the porch stairs. He followed the path far more sedately, making his way down the sloped yard to the familiar cypress tree. 

They stopped just in front of the mossy veil as Quatre looked around them, admiring the large tree. “This is it?”

Trowa nodded and pushed the moss aside, revealing the darkened trail, then stepped inside.

It was rather surreal, walking the paths with someone in tow. No one before nor after Duo had ever accompanied him, and he found he was having mixed feelings about having Quatre along, almost as though he was encroaching on something deeply personal. 

From a reasonable standpoint, it didn’t make sense; anyone was welcome to walk through the bayou, and this particular portion didn’t belong to any one person, as far as he was aware. Trowa attributed it instead to just what this stretch of land meant to him, how profoundly he had been affected by his time within its canopy.

After a short walk in silence, they came across a familiar sight. Trowa felt simultaneously lighter and more tense as they approached the ancient tree. As before, it felt like coming home, and he felt more relaxed than he had since returning, but he couldn’t help the rising thread of tension that coiled in his belly, winding tighter with each passing moment.  The memory of his dream the day before surfaced, and with it the sense that this was important, that he stood on the edge of something momentous.

Everything he had done, the research, listening to stories, even the letter he left behind over a week ago had led him to this point. He stood on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump, but he couldn’t see the bottom.

A leap of faith.

“This is it,” he said, his voice falling flat in the heavy air. He heard the slight scuff of shoes that came up behind him and stopped. 

“This was where you played?” Quatre asked, his voice quiet, speaking in the hushed tones one usually reserved for the sanctuary of a church.

Trowa nodded, then stepped carefully up the path, placing each deliberate step. The edge seemed to stretch out before him. He ducked inside without pausing, ignoring the heady sense of deja vu, and held the branches back for Quatre to enter.

Quatre stood slowly and looked around, his eyes wide. “Wow, this place is amazing!” He turned to Trowa. “Duo showed you this?”

Trowa nodded, smiling slightly as he looked around. “We played here every day. It was our base camp.”

While Quatre looked around, Trowa went to the base of the tree and crouched to sift through the leaves. He had cleared the area just over a week ago, and already the ground looked untouched.

“What are you looking for?”

Trowa glanced over his shoulder to where Quatre was hunched over, hands braced on his knees, watching him curiously. “I left something behind when I was here during the reunion.” He turned back, rubbing his hands together before wiping them on his pants. “It’s not here anymore.”

Quatre stepped back as Trowa rose to his feet. “Do you think it was Duo?”

Trowa sighed, looking up the line of the trunk. “I don’t know what to think. Part of me, the rational part, thinks that it just blew away, or maybe it rained and disintegrated. But another part-” He bit his lip.

They fell silent for a moment, until Trowa inhaled deeply, letting the air out slowly. “There’s nothing here,” he said, his voice tightly controlled. He didn’t want to be disappointed; he shouldn’t have been expecting anything in the first place. But his impulsive decision to leave a note behind had sparked the hint of optimism that  he had easily ignored. 

“Trowa, just a sec.”

He stopped in mid step, his hand out to push aside the branches. Just as he turned his head to look back, there was a light touch on his back.

“Sorry, there’s just some leaves here. I’ll get them.”

Trowa waited patiently as Quatre brushed off his back, then tensed as he was overwhelmed with the sense of being dunked in cold water, the sensation leaving him breathless. 

Quatre leaned around him with a frown. “Are you alright?”

Trowa blinked, flexing his fingers with a nod. “Yeah, fine, just- Just a cold chill.”

Quatre watched him a moment longer, then nodded. “You’re all set.”

Pushing the odd occurance aside, Trowa led them out of the hideout and back onto the path. He breathed deeply, enjoying the mix of earthy tones, delaying his return to the real world and the questions still waiting to be answered.

He glanced past the tree, down the path the led deeper into the bayou, and locked eyes with another being.

Trowa froze, his eyes widening as he stared into deep purple eyes, a shade long ago seared into his memory.

“Duo?”

Purple eyes widened, then they turned and vanished, disappearing into the underbrush, a flick of golden brown trailing in their wake.

Trowa took off, his thoughts narrowing to the figure before him, just out of reach, always turning the corner just as he caught a glimpse. He could hear Quatre calling his name behind him, never far, but he couldn’t hear anything more over his harsh pants for air or the pounding of his heart, beating against his chest.

He pushed ahead, his legs pumping for all his worth, closing the distance with his long strides, and he spared a thought for his genetic luck. He rounded another corner, then slid to a halt, gasping for breath as his eyes landed on the figure, refusing to look away, to even blink, for fear of him disappearing again.

A young man stood at the edge of a clearing, his head bowed toward the surrounding water, the long trail of his braided hair tracing a path past his tense shoulders, a broad back covered in a billowy, dark green shirt, ending at a trim waist. 

Behind him, Trowa heard Quatre come to a stop, his own breathing heavy as he tried to catch his breath. He ignored his friend and took a hesitant step forward.

“Duo?”

The young man flinched. “Why are you here?” He asked, his voice tight.

Trowa swallowed a gasp, his heart jumping into his throat. He sounded so different, but wrapped in the deeper tone was the same cadence, the same timbre that made his heart race.

“Duo? You remember me?” 

Trowa watched as he finally turned, slowly, bracing for anger, rejection, for a face he didn’t recognize, or worse, nothing at all.

He looked up, locking eyes with Trowa, and he knew.

His eyes were the same startling shade of purple, and despite his mature features, Trowa could still trace the lines of boyhood. His jawline was more defined, his cheeks full and dusted a pale red, though Trowa wasn’t sure if it was from anger or something else. Trowa’s eyes fell to his lips, remembering the brief press against his own.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Duo said finally, his expression as tight as his words. He seemed torn, holding himself back.

“Why not? I came back to look for you,” Trowa took another step, the tight grip of uncertainty loosening when Duo didn’t move away.

“It’s not safe for you,” Duo’s eyes darted behind Trowa, where he assumed Quatre was standing, silent, before looking to him again. “You need to leave.”

“Not without you,” Trowa insisted. One more step, closing the distance between them. He offered his hand, palm up, bridging the gap. “I won’t leave without you.”

“You don’t understa-”

A howl suddenly cut through the heavy air, and Trowa felt every hair on his body stand on end. He held his breath, his heart once again pounding in his chest as the eerie call faded. He looked around quickly, catching sight of Quatre’s equally pale face. He couldn’t tell where the sound had come from; it had filled the air so completely.

Suddenly, he was yanked around, and he stumbled to keep up with Duo as he was pulled back down the path, Quatre falling into step behind him. 

“They know you’re here. I can’t believe you brought  _ him _ along with you. How  _ stupid _ can you be-” 

Trowa blinked at the constant stream of angry words from Duo, his mind still coming to grips with the feel of the warm and very real hand around his own. “What was that?” Trowa asked, picking up his pace so he wasn’t dragged along.

Duo shook his head, his jaw clenched in anger. “You don’t want to know.”

Trowa opened his mouth when the howling came again, louder and definitely closer. Duo’s grip tightened around Trowa, then they were running, Duo’s steps nearly silent, contrasting with Trowa’s heavy footfalls.

“It’s after us?” Quatre panted from just behind Trowa, his breathing harsh.

Duo nodded, gritting his teeth. The run reminded Trowa of his childhood escape, of Duo’s insistence and the frantic dash to escape an unknown danger.

They rounded a turn, and Trowa nearly sagged with relief when the familiar moss covered exit came into view. 

Duo slowed to a halt just before the edge, pulling Trowa in front of him in an attempt to push him through the hanging. Once again, Trowa twisted in his grip, turning to face him.

“Come with me.”

Duo looked up at him, his expression open, not even trying to hide the desperation on his face. “I can’t. Please, you have to go now!”

“I’m not leaving without you! Not again!” Trowa gripped his arms, holding tightly. “I won’t.”

“Trowa-”

Trowa smiled, the sound of his name dispelling any fears that remained. “You remembered my name.”

Duo closed his eyes, and seemed to sag in Trowa’s arms. “I never forgot,” he breathed, just above a whisper. 

Before Trowa could reply, Duo surged upward, pressing his lips against Trowa’s. He gasped, returning the kiss with equal fervor, sighing when Duo cradled his face with both hands. They pulled apart slowly, breathing the same air, and Duo smoothed his hands down Trowa’s face, tracing his neck until he pressed both palms against his chest. Trowa was sure Duo could feel his heart trying to beat its way out of his body.

“I have always loved you too,” Duo whispered with a smile, then suddenly, he shoved Trowa, catching him by surprise.

Trowa fell away with a shout, his gaze fixed on Duo’s face until the sharp light of day blinded him, forcing him to shut his eyes.

He landed with a thud, knocking the air from his lungs, blinking to clear his vision. 

Once again, he had been saved from the bayou, and once again, he was on the other side of the veil, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More questions than answers.


	6. Chapter 6

_And what we made_ _  
_ _The two of us against the grain_

**_Levoile_ **

Trowa stood at the edge of the treeline, indecision rooting his feet. He had come out alone, with no sign of Duo or Quatre. Duo had insisted that he leave, and he had felt the urgency in his words, but he couldn’t help but worry for them.

He had never heard a sound like that before, an almost wolf-like howl, otherworldly. It was as strange as it was unnerving; he knew Louisiana didn’t have a wolf population, and in his time growing up here, had never heard of any sightings.

After another beat, he swept back the moss, determined to drag any dissenting parties out of the bayou, but the path was empty. He paused, blinking quickly, hoping that maybe the gloom was hiding them from his sight, but another quick sweep came up empty.

The familiar thread of panic began to rise, but he forced it aside as he stepped back into the gloom on high alert, ready to grab them and bolt. He strained his ears, listening for any rustling closeby, anything that would alert him to something lurking in the shadows.

He searched along the path, only going as far as the first bend, keeping the exit in his sights.

Trowa was alone.

He didn’t understand it. Had they run back down the path? Why hadn’t Quatre followed him out? Did Duo capture Quatre instead of Trowa? He hadn’t shown any signs that he had wanted to do so with either of them.

He didn’t know what to think, but standing in the heavy air of the bayou, he had no answers.

Slowly, reluctantly, he left, constantly scanning his surroundings, jumping at every little sound, hoping that it would turn into one of the two men now missing. He came to the end of the path empty handed, and with one final look, left the bayou.

He paused just within the edge of the yard, suddenly angry with the bright afternoon sun and breezy day. Trowa had lost not only the very person he had been looking for, but now his best friend as well. He wanted to scream, for the sky to darken with storm clouds and rain to pour in heavy sheets, hiding the world in rivers of grey. Instead, sunshine and a bright blue, cloudless sky mocked his bleak mood.

He could feel the weight of his losses on his shoulders, pressing against his chest, hanging on his heart. He didn’t know what to do.

Eventually, he trudged up the path, bypassing the house to the car. He yanked open the driver door and dropped into the seat, closing his eyes as he wallowed in guilt. He sat for a long moment before finally opening his eyes, and blinked.

On the steering wheel was a note, folded and stuck in the middle, his name written in Quatre’s familiar neat script.

Trowa stared at it, trying to process what he was seeing, wondering when someone could have placed it there, before it clicked. Quatre had taken a moment longer than Trowa to get out of the car. He could have taped it to the wheel in the few seconds Trowa wasn’t looking.

He snatched it off the wheel, nearly ripping it in his haste to unfold the paper. He read over it quickly and frowned in confusion, then read it again.

_Trowa,_

_If you’re reading this, then I didn’t make it out. Don’t be alarmed. I’m safe, for now. However, there are a few things I need you to do for me._

_First, I need you to speak to Rashid. Let him know what has happened and that you have things under control._

_Second, you need to see Dorothy. She will be able to help you. Make sure that you let her know you’re coming, and arrive after hours._

_Finally, I want you to understand that this was my decision. I do not regret helping you find Duo; this was always a risk. I know you won’t stop until you find us, so please follow these instructions._

_You’ll need to be prepared for this hunt._

_Quatre_

Trowa shook his head slowly in disbelief. There was nothing about going to the police or alerting his family, like someone would expect. Instead, it sounded like Quatre had known this would happen all along; the letter almost sounded resigned, like this was the inevitable conclusion to their investigation.

How was Quatre safe? He must have known his assailants, even though the only person they had seen in the bayou had been Duo.

Trowa gasped as he fell still. Had Duo captured him somehow?

He shook his head sharply, dispelling the thought. He knew in his heart it wasn't true, that Duo wouldn’t have done that. He hadn’t known they would be in the bayou, had ran when he realized they had spotted him. It seemed like a stretch to think he would immediately turn around and try to capture one of them, especially after helping them escape that creature.

With Duo off the list of possible suspects, Trowa was once again left with nothing. No answers, and now, he was doing this on his own.

Or maybe not, if Quatre’s letter was to be believed. He needed to talk to Rashid, regardless of the letter’s instructions. Trowa started up the car, not feeling quite as lost, his restless energy now pointed at a clear cut task, even if he couldn't yet see the reasoning.

He drove to the bed and breakfast and collected their things. After giving the front desk a plausible excuse, he checked out and headed back home.

Along the way, he tried to figure out what to tell Rashid without sounding like a conspiracy theorist or a murderer who dropped his friend in the swamp. He was already going into this on the back foot, and no one wanted to get on Rashid’s bad side.

Easily the largest man Trowa had ever seen, Rashid was Winner Enterprise's straight-laced head of security, and took the position very seriously. Trowa knew of more than a few people who had been on the receiving end of his ire, but never more than once. It was a well known secret that Rashid had a soft spot for Winner’s only son, treating him with a respect close to reverence.

Any affront to Quatre was an affront to Rashid.

And now Trowa had the task of informing him of Quatre’s disappearance. Trowa wanted to pound his head on the steering wheel. No matter how he worded it in his head, there was no good way to break the news. How was he supposed to tell Rashid he had everything under control when he didn’t have a clue as to what was going on?

In the end, he decided to simply state it outright, and show him the letter. Surely Quatre's own words would soften the blow.

Trowa arrived back in New Orleans mid afternoon, giving him plenty of time to contact and meet with Rashid, despite his dread in doing so. He knew the longer he put it off, the worse it would be, but the thought of his life ending the moment he told Rashid made him hesitate.

He trudged into his apartment, dropping their bags on the couch before flopping down beside them, sitting in silence, content to simply exist. After a few minutes, he dug his phone out of his pocket, shoving down his trepidation.

He dialed the familiar number and navigated through the menus until a woman answered.

“Security.”

Trowa swallowed as his stomach lurched. “I need to speak with Rashid Kurama, please.”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Trowa Barton.”

“Please hold.”

Trowa leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He dug his fingers in his hair, staring at the floor as the hold music played through the phone. What was he going to say? Would Rashid believe him?

The music cut off abruptly. “This is Rashid.”

Trowa cleared his throat, holding himself still. “This is Trowa. I need to talk to you immediately.”

The line was quiet. He shifted, straightening in his seat, dropping his hand to his lap as his foot bounced lightly.

“Come in through the private entrance,” Rashid’s deep voice broke through the silence. He rattled off the door code, then hung up, leaving Trowa to sit in silence.

He blinked slowly lowering the phone to stare at it blankly. It went surprisingly well, but it didn't stop the heavy knot of dread that settled in his stomach. Now he had to face him.

Trowa shook himself out of his daze and rose, collecting his things. He grabbed his jacket, and left. There was no point in putting it off any longer.

He drove to the building, bypassing the normal employee entrance to pull around the back. He gave his name to the security guard, who waved him through. Once parked, he walked up to the private elevator and called the car. After a moment, the doors opened, and Trowa stepped inside, glancing around curiously.

The private entrance was reserved for the higher ups and the Winner family, a means for them to get to work without mingling with the masses, or in this case, get someone into the building without attracting attention.

He went to punch in the floor, but found a screen in place of the regular panel. He tapped it, bringing the screen to life, which displayed a request for the key code. Trowa hummed, slightly impressed, and entered the memorized numbers. After flashing its acceptance, a menu popped up, asking where he wanted to go.

He quickly selected “Security” and stepped back, leaning against the rail. He could feel the letter in his pocket, a constant reminder of his impending encounter. His nerves rose to the forefront as the car climbed quickly.

Trowa still didn’t know what to say.

All too soon, the car stopped with a pleasant ding, and the doors slid open, revealing a small lobby with a desk centered on the wall facing the elevator. Trowa stepped out, walking past a couple plush chairs set against the wall on his right. A woman sat behind the desk typing on a computer. A bluetooth blinked in her ear, and she tapped it once without pausing, answering it with the same punctual greeting Trowa had received during his call.  As he approached, she looked up, smiling lightly at him as she gestured for him to wait. After a moment, she tapped the bluetooth again and gave him her full attention.

“May I help you?”

Trowa cleared his throat before answering. “I’m Trowa Barton. I’m here to see Rashid.”

She inclined her head and motioned towards the chairs. “Please have a seat. I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”

“Thank you.”  Trowa stepped back, watching her rise and disappear into a door behind the desk, cleverly disguised to blend with the wall. He inhaled a deep breath, holding it as he counted to five, and exhaled, trying to calm his nerves. He glanced around the bland room, too nervous to even consider sitting.

“Trowa.”

Trowa tensed at the deep voice and turned slowly to face the towering man. “Rashid. Thank you for meeting with me.” He offered his hand, barely suppressing a wince when Rashid wrapped it in his larger hand, engulfing his own.

“Right this way.” Rashid led him through the door and down a long hall, passing numerous doors. Some were open, revealing assorted men and women hunched over files or computers, other seated in front of arrays of monitors, speaking quietly into headsets or phones. Rashid opened a door and stepped aside, ushering Trowa into the room.

Trowa looked around, noting the few pieces of furniture in the room, a large, clean desk flanked by twin bookcases, each packed with neatly arranged books and binders. A single chair sat in front of the desk, mirroring a much larger one behind.

After closing the door, Rashid walked around to sit at his chair, motioning for Trowa to take the other. As he sat down, he suddenly felt like he was the subject of an interrogation, and tamped down on the urge to fidget under the larger man’s heavy gaze.

“I couldn’t help but notice you came alone,” Rashid began, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

Trowa pulled the letter out of his pocket and pushed it across the desk while avoiding the large man’s gaze. “We went to Levoile to look for someone I knew as a child.”

“Levoile?” Something in Rashid’s tone made Trowa glance up, and he watched as he opened the letter, reading silently to himself. Finally, Rashid lowered the paper, sighing heavily. He looked up, meeting Trowa’s eyes.

“Tell me everything.”

So he did.

Trowa explained everything, starting with Nonnie’s story and how it tied back to that fateful summer, how it led to his unexpected investigation, and Quatre’s prompting and eventual assistance.

“We did find him, but he pushed me out of the bayou,” Trowa said, lowering his eyes. “When I turned around, I was alone. I went back, just inside, but they were already gone.”

Rashid remained silent. At some point, he had leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk, watching Trowa over his woven hands.

“That is quite the story,” he intoned slowly, and Trowa winced, staring at his hands resting on his knees. “Were it anyone else, I would dismiss it as just that - a story.”

Trowa inhaled sharply, looking up quickly. Rashid’s expression remained neutral, but something in his tone told Trowa he was no longer under suspicion.  

“Master Quatre has written here that you are to tell me you have everything under control,” Rashid tapped the paper, then quirked a grin. “Something tells me that’s not quite the case.”

Trowa huffed a laugh, his tension bleeding out in a whoosh. He felt nearly boneless after sitting stiffly for so long. “I have no idea what to do. This is beyond anything I’ve ever imagined,” he said honestly.

Rashid nodded, his eyes softening with understanding. “I appreciate your honesty. Master Quatre clearly thinks very highly of you to ask you to do this.”

“I don’t even know what this is,” Trowa said, tossing his hands in the air. “I feel horrible for even getting him involved. He’s missing because of me.”

“No.”

Trowa flinched, surprised by the harsh tone.

“What you need to understand is that Master Quatre has a history with that town, one that precedes your friendship. That history is what created this situation, and he went with you knowing full well that this was a possibility,” Rashid stated firmly.

Trowa looked at him in confusion. “History? What kind of history?”

“The kind that I am not a liberty to discuss,” Rashid answered. “What I can say is that we have contingencies in place for just such occasion.”

Trowa clenched his jaw, holding back his initial response. It sounded like the chance of Quatre’s disappearance was as likely as holding a birthday party, something they planned for every year, brushing the dust off as the date approached.

“What do I need to do?” Trowa asked instead, recalling the rest of the letter.

Rashid passed the paper back. Trowa quickly folded and pocketed it. “Speak with Dorothy, just as he states. She will be able to give you further instructions.”

“You mean Dorothy Catalonia?” he asked, scoffing in disbelief. “The Dorothy Catalonia? You’re not serious.”

Rashid frowned at him. “Master Quatre’s instructions are quite clear.”

“What can she do? He hasn’t spoken to her since the incident. Why would she need to be involved?” Trowa shook his head.  

“She can explain the situation better than I can.”

“How can someone he hasn’t spoken to in years know what’s going on better than his personal head of security?” Trowa asked angrily.

Rashid sat up, glowering down at Trowa. “Are you questioning Master Quatre’s instructions?”

“Yes!” Trowa yelled, his frustrations bleeding over. He was done with the vague answers and run around. He didn’t know what his role was in finding his best friend, and so far, he’d managed to actually end up with less at the end of an investigation than when he started. “I just want someone to give me a straight answer so we can get on with finding Quatre!”

Rashid leveled a glare at him, nostrils flaring as he spoke. “Your job is to prepare for your role in locating Master Quatre, and to inform those who will be instrumental in the search.” He waited a moment, letting his words sink in. “Your next stop is to see Dorothy, like her or not.”

Trowa matched his glare, refusing to be cowed, until he finally sighed, all the fight bleeding out of him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, scrubbing his face with both hands. “I just want to find him. He was with me this morning and now he’s gone-” He choked, biting his lip as realization set in.

It hadn’t even been a full day, and yet it felt like an entirely different life.

“We will find Master Quatre,” Rashid said calmly, the deep tones of his voice soothing Trowa’s nerves. “You have my word.”

Trowa nodded, scrubbing his eyes as he inhaled a shaky breath. “Okay,” he said, clearing his throat as his voice caught on the simple word. “Do you have her information?”

Rashid pulled open a desk drawer, turning away as he fiddled with something inside. After a moment, he pulled out a card and handed it to Trowa.

“That is her office information.” He paused as he glanced at his computer screen. “It looks like you’ll have enough time to make it there right as they close.”

“Baton Rouge,” Trowa read off with a slight frown.

“If you leave now, you can beat the initial rush hour traffic.”

Trowa nodded and pulled out his phone. He took a picture of her business card, then programmed in the address. Finished, he returned the card to Rashid, who stowed it away.

“Thank you for your help,” Trowa said, clutching his phone. “I’m sorry that this has happened.”

Rashid nodded. “You did the right thing by coming to me. As I said before, we will find Master Quatre.”

Trowa inhaled a shaky breath, then nodded in return. He rose, offering his hand to Rashid. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“Feel free to contact me on my personal line,” Rashid said, grasping his hand in a firm handshake. “Lydia can give you my card.”

With a final shake, Trowa left. He stopped at the front desk to ask for the card, then made his way back to his car.

One task down, another to go, and Trowa still didn’t know what his part was. Rashid’s words came back to him, replaying in his head.

Maybe he was being too hard on himself. It hadn’t yet been a full day. The first step would be to inform those who needed to know, and Trowa was doing just that. If he stood back and looked at it objectively, he was doing everything right. He couldn’t be expected to turn around and immediately plunge back into the swamp without some sort of plan and adequate backup.

He climbed into his car and pulled out his phone. He typed in her office number and waited, tapping the fingers of his free hand on his knee.

“Thank you for calling Second Sight, how may I help you?” A bored-sounding man answered.

“My name is Trowa Barton. I’ll be stopping in to speak with Dorothy Catalonia later today,” he said, putting as much authority in his voice as possible.

“May I ask the nature of your visit?” The man replied.

Trowa hesitated, unsure of what answer would be appropriate. “Personal,” he finally said, wincing slightly. He sounded like he was arranging some illicit meeting.

“I’ll make a note,” the man said blandly. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s all.”

Without another word, the line went dead. Trowa couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head as he set up his GPS. Whoever she had hired as her receptionist was just as cut and dry as she was, with no need to waste time on pointless small talk.

His destination set, Trowa started up the car and pulled out of the parking garage.

He couldn’t help but feel like he should be doing something more, that time spent driving around the state was time he could invest in locating his friend. Trowa bit his lip as his grip tightened the steering wheel.

No.

He had to stop thinking like that. He was doing exactly what Quatre expected of him. Once this was done, he could start the actual search, hopefully fully prepared and informed. Rashid knew something about Levoile, something that made it dangerous for Quatre. Perhaps Dorothy was part of that history he had mentioned.

If so, that could be why Dorothy would know more about it than Rashid.

With that thought in mind, Trowa pulled out onto the interstate, and settled in for the long drive ahead.

He would get answers, one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rashid: So, this paper says you're fine, but your face says you're panicking.  
> Trowa: Basically.
> 
> Also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAEVE! I'm sorry I don't have anything special for you, but please accept this humble offering. Thank you for being such an inspiration and wonderful friend. This, and so many other works wouldn't exist without you. <3


	7. Chapter 7

_ Staying up all night _

_ Drinking more than we should _

_ Getting way too high _

**_Baton Rouge_ **

Trowa stood awkwardly outside the building. Despite the clear cut instructions, he still felt like he was doing something wrong. The letter said he had to meet with Dorothy after hours, and to ask for her only after the office had closed, but years of working shitty customer service jobs had ingrained a healthy degree of sympathy for anyone who had to deal with a customer or patient who walked in right at closing. 

Shoving his guilt to the side, he squared his shoulders and opened the door.

Trowa walked into the waiting room, glancing curiously around as he approached the reception desk. He stood at the sliding window, currently closed, and looked inside to find a young man with wild, brown hair typing furiously at the computer, a small set of reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

He waited a moment, expecting the receptionist to look up and acknowledge his presence, but nothing happened. With a hint of annoyance, Trowa tapped on the window, just enough to get his attention.

Without looking away from the screen, the young man reached up and slid the window to the side.

“Can I help you?” 

He sounded like he wanted to do anything but. Trowa cleared his throat. “I called earlier today. I’m here to see Dorothy Catalonia.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Trowa blinked at his clipped tone. “Well, no-”

“Dr. Catalonia sees patients by appointment only. You’re welcome to schedule one for a later date.”

“I’m not here for an appointment,” Trowa frowned. “It’s an emergency.”

“We don’t handle emergencies here,” the young man replied back instantly. “Should you need immediate medical assistance, you need to go to the hospital. If you need to call for an ambulance, there is a phone on the wall behind you.”

Trowa gaped at him, glancing around in disbelief. “It’s not a medical- Look,” Trowa growled, letting his frustrations bleed through. “Just tell her I’m here about Quatre Winner.”

The typing immediately ceased, and Trowa found himself on the receiving end of a pointed glare from dark blue eyes. He forced himself to remain still under the intense scrutiny, reminding himself that he was simply following Quatre’s written instructions. He had nothing to be worried about.

“Your name?” The man snapped without blinking.

“Trowa Barton,” he replied, clenching his fists, hoping the man didn’t notice from his seat below the window ledge.

After another moment, just as Trowa was beginning to think he’d spontaneously combust if the glaring continued for much longer, the man rose. Though slightly shorter than Trowa, he was no less intimidating.

“Wait here.”

And with that, he slid the window shut and walked away. Trowa watched as he turned down a hall and disappeared. He waited a few more seconds, then heaved a sigh, his shoulders sagging in relief. 

He walked away from the counter and paced around the room, too restless to sit and wait. 

Of all the people he would have considered to ask for help, Dorothy was one of a select few that landed squarely on the ‘Nope’ list. He had learned early in his college career to avoid her if and whenever possible. Though they had different majors, she was notorious on the campus party scene, and always managed to show up to a party he and Quatre were attending.

While he wouldn’t say they were enemies, per se, Dorothy had a way of bringing out animosity in people, a skill she used masterfully and with obvious pleasure. Trowa had found himself on the receiving end more times than he liked, leading to a campaign that involved a Dorothy lookout club and the ability to vacate the premises quickly.

Quatre had a closer relationship with her, something that almost resembled a friendship, simply due to his ability to hold his own against her in a battle of wits. All bets were off when they actually got to drinking, leading to some of the more memorable nights of his academic career.

To be honest, it was more mutual respect than friendship.

Just as he adjusted his route to lap around the room, a door just to the right of the receptionist window opened, revealing Dorothy Catalonia herself.

“Trowa Barton, I never dreamed I would have the pleasure of your company,” she said, smiling slyly at him. “Please, come in.”

Trowa managed a tight smile in return, and followed her through the door and down the hall.

Dorothy led him into her office, sweeping around her desk to gesture grandly to the chair, then sat down, smiling as Trowa sat in the offered seat, her gaze calculating.

“What brings you all the way out here?” She asked sweetly. She leaned back in her chair, steepling her hands in front of her mouth.

“You received my message,” Trowa said with a slight frown.

Dorothy waved a hand dismissively. “Such things are so impersonal. They lack the nuances accompanying human interaction. I want to hear your story.”

“You mean you want to see if I’m off my rocker.”

She shrugged delicately, her smirk never wavering. “I agreed to meet. That has to count for something.”

Trowa tamped down on the urge to glare at her, and instead adjusted his seat, squaring his shoulders. “Quatre is missing.”

“I gathered as much,” she replied. “It’s easy to confirm those sort of things.”

This time, Trowa allowed himself to glower at her. “You could at least  _ act _ concerned.”

She arched a perfectly coiffed eyebrow at him. “Should I be?”

He bit back a retort, taking a moment to rein in his emotions. “A few days ago, we were hiking through the bayou outside Levoile. At the very end, we became separated and I haven’t been able to find him since.” It was an extremely abbreviated version of events, but the main framework was still true.

“Is that all?” She finally asked, completely unmoved.

“I have a letter from him stating that I was to ask for your help in locating him should something like this happen.” Trowa ground out, clenching his fists. 

“Of that I have no doubt,” Dorothy reached for a glass from a decanter set perched on the end of her desk. She poured herself a finger, taking a moment to offer Trowa the same. When he declined, she replaced the stopper and sat back in her chair. 

“The problem I’m having,” she continued, swirling the amber liquid, watching him over the rim of the glass, “is why I am needed in such a frivolous hunt.”

Trowa blinked at her, biting his cheek. “You have a problem with him asking for help?”

“Quatre Winner is a very well connected and capable young man,” Dorothy said, unmoved by his anger. “As such, he is also a meticulous and efficient planner, meaning he will only use the resources that are completely appropriate for any given situation.”

She met his eyes, her gaze challenging. “So I’ll ask you again. Is. That. All?”

Trowa inhaled through his nose, holding his breath as he turned over the options in his head, debating just how much he was willing to tell her. He knew, from past experience, that she had given him his only warning, essentially stating, in her usual convoluted way, that she knew he was holding back information. 

“We were looking for someone,” he said, watching her closely.

“Now, was that so hard?” She took a sip of her drink, her expression smug. “Who is this someone?”

“A boy I met while growing up in the area,” Trowa said carefully.

“And does this boy live in the bayou?”

Trowa clenched his jaw. “Possibly.”

Dorothy rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue as she set her glass on the desk. “Honestly, Trowa, I know you don’t like me, but if I have to sit here and drag every line of this story from you, I will be a very unhappy woman. And believe me, I will get every single line, and I think we both know who will get the short end of this stick.”

They stared each other down in silence, neither one willing to give an inch, until reason won over, and Trowa sighed, relenting his position. He was doing this for Quatre.

“The boy we were looking for supposedly vanished in the swamp over sixty years ago,” he said, staring her down. “We were hoping to find him to possibly figure out how I had met him when I was a child.”

Dorothy inclined her head, prompting him to continue.

“We found- We found him, at least, I believe we did, but he told us we had to leave. That’s when we heard this awful howling, like a wolf, but…” He trailed off, dropping his eyes to her desk as he remembered the chill that had raced down his spine, the feeling of his hairs standing on end, the immediate instinct to run.

“He helped us get to the end of the path, and he pushed me through, but Quatre never made it. When I went back, just in those few seconds, they were gone.”

Dorothy watched him, her piercing stare unnerving. Trowa could practically feel her trying to drag some reaction from him, give something more away.

“Why did Quatre go to Levoile with you?”

Trowa looked up at with a frown, his brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Did you ask him? Or did he volunteer?” She clarified.

He paused, thinking back to their various discussions. “He volunteered, I guess,” Trowa answered slowly as he remembered their last conversation before leaving. “He told me to pick him up before I left.”

Dorothy hummed, acknowledging his words, but did not comment further. She poured herself another drink, leaning back to stare into the swirling contents. He could see the wheels turning in her head, and the similar debate she now waged about how much to tell him in return. 

Trowa considered giving her more information, maybe telling her about the stories of the fae folk that were a recurring theme in the town, when she set her glass down with a solid thud.

“Before I go any further, understand that I am only doing this because of how highly I value Quatre’s judgement,” she said curtly, staring him down.

Trowa blinked and nodded his head with a short jerk, caught off guard.

“In addition, you will  _ not _ tell him I said that.”

Trowa smirked, then quickly smothered it when she narrowed her eyes. He coughed once and nodded. “Got it.”

She watched him a moment longer, then inhaled slowly. “To make sure we’re on the same page, I need you to confirm a few points, and you must answer honestly.” Dorothy leaned forward slightly, somehow becoming that much more menacing. Trowa clamped down on the urge to fidget. “I _will_ _know_ if you are lying.”

Trowa gave one more jerky nod, and she receded.

“First, you are aware of the stories in Levoile concerning faeries.” When Trowa nodded, she continued. “Second, you made contact with this boy on two separate occasions, not just a sighting.”

Trowa nodded firmly, refusing to blush as he remembered the exact contact.

“Last, do you believe there are things in this world that defy human logic?” 

He hesitated, searching her face, but she remained serious, simply waiting for his answer. “I’m not sure what to believe anymore,” he said honestly.

She nodded, satisfied. “The stories are true.”

Trowa paused, confused. “The stories-"

“Well, some of them. People do have a way of blowing things out of proportion,” she continued, ignoring his prompt.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Trowa frowned. He could feel the beginnings of frustration boil in his chest.

Dorothy pursed her lips, studying him with consideration. “To be honest, I’ve never had to explain this to someone, and I’m not quite sure where to begin.”

Had it been anyone else, he would have accepted the admission with understanding. But this was Dorothy, who revelled in digging deep into another person and ripping them to shreds with a wealth of knowledge and a scathing tongue. He gaped at her, speechless.

“Hmm, alright, the basics then,” she muttered to herself. To Trowa, she said, “To understand what is going on now, you must first understand the past, and how we came to this point. I won’t bore you on the details, and I doubt you could keep up anyway-” Trowa leveled a glare at her, which she ignored. “-but one thing you must understand and accept is that humans are not alone on this Earth. There are creatures and beings who have lived before and alongside them for thousands of years.”

Trowa paused, dropping his gaze as a piece of the puzzle fell into place. “You mean the stories, the faeries.”

“Oh, you’re quicker than you look,” Dorothy purred, propping her head on her fist with a sharp smile. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“You’re saying faeries are real.”

“I don’t care how many times you have to say it until you believe it, but do it in your head. I won’t listen to you repeat it like a broken record.” She said, glaring at him.

“Wait, all of it?” Trowa leaned forward on his elbows. “Which parts are true?”

“There is a sect of faeries who live in the bayou just outside the town of Levoile,” Dorothy stated, watching him. “They have lived there since long before the town existed, and will continue to live there long after the town is dead and gone.”

“I’ve never seen them. No one has ever seen them,” Trowa argued.

“You haven’t?” Dorothy smiled at him, the slightest curve of her lips, her eyes sparkling as though laughing. “Isn’t that how you got into this in the first place?”

Trowa shook his head in confusion. “The boy I met, Duo, he’s not a faerie. He’s a child who went missing over sixty years ago. Human.”

“Yet you played with him when you were a child,” Dorothy said smoothly, arching an eyebrow, practically radiating a challenge.  _ Tell me I’m wrong. _

Trowa opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. He wanted to argue with her, deny that faeries existed, find some logical argument to shove back in her face, but in the end, there was nothing he could say. 

“I don’t understand.”

“I have a theory concerning your friend,” Dorothy said. “However, I will need more information about him in order to confirm a few things. But he isn’t why you are here.”

Trowa sighed deeply, closing his eyes. “Quatre.”

She waited until he opened his eyes, then pounced. “Quatre is half fae.”

Trowa choked, coughing harshly. He stared at her with watery eyes, gaping in disbelief. “What?” 

Dorothy’s smile stretched, watching him with clear amusement. “You weren't aware?” She asked sweetly.

“What do you think?” Trowa snapped, catching his breath. He had accepted a lot up to this point: a ghost child, folk tales, a chance encounter in the bayou, and now the disappearance of his best friend. But this was a step beyond what he was expecting.

He had gone to college with him. The two had shared late nights huddled over lecture notes and, at times, the toilet alike. They had shared drinks over a mutual hatred for particular professors, freshmen who managed to get on their nerves, and patted each others backs when they bemoaned their choice of majors.

They had just joked about picking up each other’s underwear.

“If he's fae, why does he live with humans and not the faerie realm or whatever it is?”  Trowa asked, voice dripping with scepticism. 

Dorothy’s face darkened suddenly, putting Trowa on edge. “That is not my story to tell.”

Trowa nodded slowly.

“However,” she continued. “I will say there were certain guidelines he was required to follow, under threat of serious consequences.”

Trowa narrowed his eyes. “What kind of consequences?”

“Should he ever return to their realm, he could never leave again.”

Trowa felt a chill pass through him, leaving a heavy weight in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He had brought him into this, and now Quatre was suffering the consequences.

“It's my fault,” he whispered, bowing his head as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“He knew this could happen,” Dorothy said, her voice surprisingly kind. “His decision is not your fault.” 

She watched him a moment longer. “The fae are extremely secretive. You won't see a full blooded faerie walking around with humans, mainly because they believe themselves above mingling with what they view as a lesser race.” She straightened and folded her hands in her lap. 

“Then where did the stories come from? Everyone is aware of them,” Trowa argued.

“Think of it as two worlds coexisting alongside each other. Take a step to the side, and you’re in their realm. You can’t see them, but they can see you.”

“Unless they want to be seen.”

Dorothy grinned. “Now you’re beginning to understand. The only exception are children. However, once they reach maturity, they have lost that Sight, and dismiss anything they may have seen as the product of an overactive imagination.” 

“But I saw him,” Trowa said. “I’d never seen him before, but then I-” He froze, suddenly struck with a thought. Dorothy watched him expectantly, straightening in her chair. “Quatre did something to me,” he murmured.

“I’ve been told it’s similar to being dunked in water,” Dorothy supplied.

“That’s-” he swallowed around the urge to cough, his throat suddenly dry. “That’s fairly accurate.”

She leaned forward on her elbows, resting her chin on her woven fingers. “I’m sure you’ll forgive me, but I must ask.”

Trowa eyed her warily before nodding.

“Are you lovers?”

Trowa sputtered, his face warming in disbelief. “Why would you ask that?”

“After everything he’s done for you, risking his freedom, granting you temporary Sight, and more than likely, listening to you carry on about your friend, I can only assume he’s getting something out of the deal,” Dorothy explained, her expression open and innocent. 

“No, we are not lovers,” Trowa enunciated firmly.

“Hm, shame. You’d make a lovely couple.” She ignored his indignant sputters and rose gracefully from her chair. She made her way to a second door Trowa hadn’t initially noticed, and paused, one hand on the handle. “Are you coming?”

Trowa glanced between her and the door, then rose, cautiously making his way to her. “Where are we going?”

“To my surgery room. You’re going to need some modifications if you’re going to help Quatre.”

Trowa stopped dead, staring at her. “What do you mean, modifications? I didn’t come here to go under your knife.”

Dorothy rolled her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic. You can’t save him from something you can’t even see.” She didn’t wait for him to reply, and stepped through the door, disappearing around the corner. Trowa hesitated, staring at the open doorway, then stood and followed her inside.

A stretcher stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by medical equipment. Cabinets and counters lined the wall to Trowa’s left, continuing down the adjacent wall. To his right was a desk, complete with computer and more equipment. 

Dorothy walked around the bed and patted it, turning to him with a smirk. “Hop up, please.”

Trowa blanched. “I told you, I'm not going under your knife. Especially since you've had a drink.”

Dorothy rolled her eyes. “What I'm going to do has nothing to do with a knife, and if you think one little drink would affect my abilities, then you must not think very highly of me.” She patted the bed again. “Up.”

Trowa hesitated a moment longer, then complied. He sat down slowly, tense and ready to jump up at a moment’s notice. 

Dorothy walked away, moving around the bed. She knocked on a door, then sat down on a rolling chair, pulling up to a desk.

Trowa turned to look over his shoulder as the door opened and a petite, dark haired woman stepped inside. She smiled widely at Trowa as she closed the door.

“Hi! My name is Hilde. I'll be assisting with the procedure.”

Trowa gave her a strained smile as he glanced at Dorothy. “It's nice to meet you, but I'm not having anything done.”

Hilde tipped her head, smile still in place. “Then why are you here?”

Trowa blinked at her blunt question as Dorothy chuckled. “Now now, Hilde, be polite. He’s here to get the Sight.”

“Ah, quick and easy then.” Hilde tossed him a final smile, then went to the cabinets, crouching down to open one of the lower doors before rooting around inside.

“Wait, the Sight?” Trowa twisted to look at Dorothy. “Is this some special power that will let me see faeries? And how can you give me that? Are you half-fae too?”

“Gods no,” Dorothy said, spinning her chair around to look at him. She crossed her legs and rested her hands on her knee. “I’m full blooded.”

Trowa gaped at her.

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, your inability to process new information is growing old. Gods help you when you actually make it to the city.”

“What are you doing here?” Trowa asked, mentally shaking his head. He would have plenty of time to sort out all this new information later. 

Dorothy eyed him, arching an eyebrow. “I’m an eye doctor.”

“I mean, you just said that faeries are secretive and that I’d never see a full blooded one, but here you are.” 

Her expression darkened, her eyes narrowing, and once again, Trowa tensed, half expecting her to lash out at him. Instead, she studied him a moment, searching his face, then spoke.

“I had to leave.”

Trowa kept his mouth shut, sensing a story behind the simple statement, though he couldn’t quite grasp the full meaning. She had obviously done something that had resulted in her leaving the faeries, but he wasn’t about to ask her for details. 

That was way too personal.

“If you’ll lie back on the table, we’ll get started,” Hilde said, smile firmly in place. With a final look at Dorothy, he did as instructed, shifting slightly to get comfortable.

“I’m trusting you to not do anything weird,” he said, watching Dorothy closely as she stood and moved to the head of the bed. 

“My dear Trowa,” she said, grinning down at him as she pulled on a coat. She fixed each button, then pulled back her long, blond hair, twisting it expertly behind her head. “If you think this isn’t strange, you’ve left your options open for a whole slew of operations.”

He closed his eyes, ignoring her laugh as he wondered just what he had gotten himself into.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, back to your regularly scheduled updates. I had to double check since I threw myself off last week, haha. And a special thank you to everyone who has commented thus far. I love the little insights, observations, and questions. They mean the world to me <3
> 
> I had a ton of fun writing Dorothy <3


	8. Chapter 8

_ And after all we never played by the rules _ _   
_ _ We broke the mold and found our own kind of cool _

**_Baton Rouge_ **

Trowa rode in the passenger seat of his car, staring out the window as he struggled to process what he was seeing. Everything seemed richer, the colors brighter, as though he had been living with a grey filter up until now. It was surreal.

He couldn’t stop staring.

It was probably for the best that Hilde was driving. Despite the relatively short distance back to New Orleans, Dorothy had insisted he remain close by, in case of any complications and for his follow up appointment the next morning. 

He had woken up to a completely different world, despite everything remaining the same. As he had stared at the room as though seeing it for the first time, Dorothy had listed some information about what to expect and how to manage the changes.

Trowa had only managed to listen with half an ear as he processed what he was seeing.

“Will it always be like this?” He had interrupted, staring at the pattern of the wallpaper, tracing the delicate vines and tiny flowers that trailed up the wall.

Dorothy had rolled her eyes, but he had caught a hint of a smile. “Yes, but you’ll get used to it. Not even wallpaper can hold your interest for that long.”

Hilde had come back and, after a brief checkup, swept him out of the room, insisting she drive. They stepped into the lobby, where the receptionist had been waiting, one hand on the door handle. He had looked at his watch, then to her, giving her a significant look.

“You could have gone ahead,” Hilde pushed through the door, blowing a raspberry at him as Trowa trailed behind. 

“You would have gotten lost,” he answered, neatly sidestepping her swat. 

Trowa followed her automatically, eyes wide as he looked around. Night had fallen, yet despite the darkness, he could see clearly, easily making out the shape of trees and cars in the gloom.

He trailed Hilde to his car, just barely refraining from running into her when she stopped by his driver door.

“Keys.”

He handed them over without question, and walked around the car to climb in the passenger seat.

Hilde pulled out the parking lot, destination unknown.

After having his fill of staring out the window, Trowa turned to her. “Where are we going?”

“To your hotel,” she said. “You’re hardly fit to drive after the procedure.”

“Who will pick you up?” Trowa frowned, feeling guilty. “Can I get you cab?”

She tossed him a smile. “That’s sweet of you, but Heero is following us.”

“Heero?”

“The impatient stack of snark that met us in the lobby,” she said, chuckling lightly. “He’s a stickler for routine.”

“I gathered as much,” Trowa mumbled. He set his elbow on the door and propped his head up on his fist. 

Hilde snorted a laugh. “He’s a fantastic receptionist, as long as it doesn’t involve people. Organizing files and knowing the processes and procedures and paperwork and all that bureaucratic bullshit is his specialty, but his customer service leaves a bit to be desired.”

Trowa snorted. “Everyone has their flaws.”

She barked a laugh. “Oh man, it just drives him insane when paperwork is in a patient’s folder in the wrong order. I’m the first to admit that filing is not my specialty, not by a long shot, so he’s always riding my ass about my files.”

“But on the customer service side…” Trowa trailed off, tossing her a knowing smile.

“Buddy, I’ve got it down.” Hilde smirked, giving the steering wheel a smack. “I adore our patients, and they love me. I’ll take an actual face over someone’s chart any day.”

Trowa relaxed back in his seat, smiling contently. Hilde was very personable, and put him at ease despite the frankly alarming changes that had just happened. 

“Here we are!” 

Hilde pulled into a hotel and parked, waiting a moment as a second car pulled up beside them. When they stepped out, Heero emerged, carrying a couple small duffels. 

“Were you trying to put me to sleep with your driving?” Heero asked, falling in step with them as they headed for the lobby. 

“If you had tailgated me any closer, you could have piggybacked on the bumper,” Hilde replied, ignoring him as he rolled his eyes.

Trowa listened to their banter with half an ear, still marveling at the colors. As they stepped into the hotel, Trowa shielded his eyes against the bright lights. Hilde held out a pair of sunglasses, and he quickly donned them, nearly sighing in relief as they toned down the harsh glare.

Heero approached the counter, talking quietly to the receptionist. 

“You guys don’t have to do this, you know,” Trowa said to Hilde. “I could have found a place on my own.”

Hilde shrugged. “Dorothy insisted, and it’s not like we do this for just anyone,” she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. 

Trowa looked at her in surprise just as Heero returned. He handed Trowa a key card, then walked toward the elevators. As Hilde walked away to join him, Trowa glanced between them and his key card before snapping out of his shock. He crossed the room quickly as the elevator doors opened.

“Wait, are you guys staying too?”

They stepped inside, and Hilde turned to lean back against the rail, arching an eyebrow at him. “Yes? The first night is always the trickiest,” she said as Heero pressed the button for their floor. “You’ll need to be monitored.”

“You’re staying with me?” Trowa asked, incredulous.

“We’ll be next door,” Heero answered, leaving when the elevator doors opened. They followed him down the hall until he stopped in front of a door. “This is our room. Yours is the next one.”

Trowa nodded and opened the next room, walking inside as he glanced around. Behind the door on his right was the bathroom, to his left, a closet. Just past the closet was another door, leading to the connected room. As he passed, someone knocked on the door.

He pulled it open, revealing Hilde, who smiled brightly at him. 

“Here's an overnight bag with some basics.”

Trowa took the duffel and glanced inside. He quickly looked up at her. “Where did you get clothes?”

“Heero made a quick trip while you were with Dorothy,” Hilde shrugged. “Just knock if you need anything. Good night!”

Trowa nodded and closed the door, still trying to wrap his head around the whirlwind of events. He set the bag on the bed, then sat down beside it, staring at the wall. 

In just a couple days, he had found and lost Duo, lost Quatre, been sent to reconnect with a college acquaintance, learned of the existence of faeries, and now had the Sight, which, so far, had made everything brighter and the colors richer. 

All in the span of a day.

He flopped back on the bed, blinking through the sunglasses. He pulled them down his nose, squinting at the ceiling as his eyes adjusted. Once he could look around without discomfort, he pulled them off completely and tossed them on the nightstand.

They had found Duo. 

He closed his eyes as a surge of giddy joy rose in his chest, sending his heart racing as his stomach fluttered. They had found him, and where Trowa had expected a child, a young man had met them instead. How could someone who remained a child for over sixty years age normally over fifteen? It didn't make sense.

Was it all an illusion? Trowa raised a hand to his lips, blinking at the ceiling. It had felt real enough.

His heart flipped again as he remembered the feel of Duo against him. His hair was still long, his eyes the same unique shade of violet, but they were no longer the same height. Trowa was tall enough that he could easily tuck Duo under his chin, but his shorter stature had done nothing to diminish his presence.

Trowa had been acutely aware of him every moment they had been together. Despite the years, he still carried a torch for him.

But did Duo still feel the same? He had said so in the bayou, but he could have just said what Trowa needed to hear to make him listen. The kiss, while welcome, had been used as a distraction. He’d just wanted Trowa to leave.

Trowa closed his eyes as he pressed his fingertips to his lips.

It had been real. Duo had done everything in his power to save him again. That meant something, even now.

With a final sigh, Trowa heaved himself up and prepared for bed. He stripped down to his boxers, then settled under the covers. Despite the questions and information bouncing around in his head, he quickly succumbed to exhaustion.

Once again, he dreamt of the old paths. He could hear creatures rustling in the underbrush, but he ignored them to continue down the trail, knowing they wouldn’t harm him. He approached the familiar tree, giving into the sensation that pulled him towards its gracefully arching branches. He smiled as the wind swirled around him, dancing around him as he stepped closer. 

As he reached the top step, he paused once again, but this time, he felt like he was waiting for something. He couldn’t go inside, not yet. He wasn’t ready, but for what, he didn’t know.

He settled in to wait, turning his back on the tree to look out over the bayou, his eyes tracing the path as it twisted away into the misty woods. A light breeze ghosted up the path, brushing against his face, bringing the deep, earthy smells with it. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he listened to the wind.

_ Are you lost? _

Trowa opened his eyes, searching for the source of the whisper, hoping to catch a glimpse of him along the path. He took a step down the stairs when a howl pierced through the air, shattering the peaceful atmosphere. Every hair stood on end as Trowa frantically looked around, searching for the source. 

Then, from further up the path, he heard something shifting in the underbrush, and he tensed, breathing heavily as he stared, waiting. The seconds stretched, but Trowa refused to look away, barely blinking, for fear that he could miss it, that the creature would use that moment to strike.

Slowly, he eased his foot back to the top step, hoping that maybe he could sneak away from it, to the safety inside the ancient branches. The sole of his shoe scuffed against the root, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the heavy silence. He froze, holding his breath-

A massive blur leapt out of the brush, lunging for him, the air filling with a savage growl. Trowa bit back a scream as he scrambled back, catching his foot on the stair. He fell backwards, his wide eyes locked on a gaping mouth, jagged teeth, the bright, shining claws racing towards him-

Trowa sat up with a gasp, his chest heaving as he fought for breath, staring blindly at the early morning gloom. He was drenched in a cold sweat, causing the sheets to cling to him. He focused his breathing, closing his eyes as he tried to calm his racing heart.

He was safe. He was in a hotel in Baton Rouge. The creature couldn’t reach him here.

He shoved the blankets away and turned to plant his feet on the rough carpet, running a shaky hand through his hair. It had been so real, so vivid. He had never had dreams like that before.

Trowa glanced at the clock radio, sighing as the early morning hour blinked back at him. There was no way he could go back to sleep now. With a resigned huff, he got up and made his way to the bathroom. 

After a long shower, Trowa finished changing and ran a brush through his hair. Another glance at the clock showed he had only managed to kill less than an hour. His appointment was at ten, leaving him with plenty of time. He considered asking his chaperones to join him for breakfast, but decided they were probably still sleeping, and left.

He returned feeling refreshed and full, the nightmare shoved neatly to the back of his mind. He cleaned up the room and packed up his belongings.

Once complete, he knocked on the connecting door, jumping slightly when he heard a loud thump. Concerned, he knocked again, his worry rising when the door swung away, unlocked.

He pushed through the doorway, glancing around, and froze, jaw dropping as his eyes widened.

Heero had Hilde pressed against the wall, his arms hooked under her legs as he held her up, his pants undone. His face was buried in her chest, obscured by her half open shirt. Her skirt was hiked up to her waist, where Heero hands were wrapped tightly, holding her in place. Hilde’s head was thrown back, her face slack as she moaned with each powerful thrust, fingers digging into his broad shoulders.

Trowa immediately retreated, his face burning. He flipped on the tv and turned up the volume, determined to drown out the sounds of his chaperones. He was more than willing to sit and wait for one of them to get him.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, he was staring at a weather forecast when Hilde knocked on his door, popping her head through the opening. She didn’t look like she had just had a round of, what had looked like, pretty intense sex. 

“Good to see you’re awake already! All set to head out?”

Trowa nodded at her, forcing a smile he hoped didn’t look too strained.

“Great. What’s the weather look like?” She asked, nodding her head at the tv.

Trowa blinked at the screen, failing to recall anything he had just watched since turning it on. “Um, sunny, I guess.”

Hilde smiled brightly. “Perfect! I love a bright, sunny day. Don’t forget to wear your sunglasses. I’ll meet you in the hall.” Before he could answer, she disappeared, pulling the door shut behind her.

As requested, he flipped off the tv and left, stopping beside Heero, who, instead of basking in post-coital bliss, was silently glaring down the hall, arms crossed over his chest.

It was hard to wrap his brain around.

“Game plan for today,” Hilde began, waving them to follow her. “I’ll drive you back to the office, you’ll have your appointment, then you’ll be good to go, pending any complications, but considering you haven’t mentioned any complaints-” She whirled on Trowa just as they stopped in front of the elevators.

“You’re not having any issues, correct? Discomfort, difficulty seeing, blurred or double vision, burning, itching, excessive redness, watery eyes, dark spots, white spots, differences between eyes?”

Trowa shook his head as she rattled off symptoms, barely keeping up. “None of the above.”

“Excellent!” She clapped her hands, smiling brightly at him. “As I was saying, since you have no complaints, you’ll be free to go.”

Trowa hoped it would be that easy.

***

Trowa sat in the examination chair, looking around the room as he tried not to fidget. He laced his fingers together, laying his hands in his lap. He jumped when the door opened and Dorothy walked in.

She sat down on a rolling chair and pulled up in front of him, smiling lightly.

“What do you think?”

Trowa fumbled a moment as he tried to figure out what she was asking. “About the Sight?”

She didn’t speak, watching him expectantly.

“It’s great,” he ventured hesitantly, watching for any reactions.

Dorothy scoffed and shifted in her chair, crossing her legs. “You can be honest with me. For the time being, I am your doctor, as well as a friend.”

Trowa quickly smothered the surprise that tried to bloom on his face. He hadn’t considered that Dorothy thought of him like that. “Everything is really… bright. Not as bad as last night, but it’s still pretty intense.”

Dorothy nodded. “That’s to be expected. Hilde gave you a pair of sunglasses to wear. Use them if you’re going to be in direct sunlight or any brightly lit rooms. The intensity will fade after a couple days.”

“And colors? Will they fade too?”

“That’s not a side effect. You’re seeing color properly for the first time. You’ll get used to that as well, though that depends on how long it takes you to get over that revelation.” She smiled sweetly at him when he rolled his eyes.

“In the bayou, how does this work?” Trowa asked. 

Dorothy arched an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

“Seeing faeries, hidden ones,” he clarified when Dorothy quirked a grin. “Do they just look like normal people or will I see some crazy creatures?”

“Remember when I told you that this realm and the fae exist side by side?” She waited until Trowa nodded. “Instead of stepping to the side and entering that realm, you can now simply turn and see it. That separation has been removed.”

“Is that why I could see you before this?” Trowa asked. “Because you left that realm?” He tensed slightly, knowing he was treading in dangerous territory. 

She pursed her lips, inhaling slowly, her eyes calculating. “When I left, I also left the protections of the realm.” She looked away, glaring at the wall. “One of the main benefits is a blanketing effect, hiding the fae from the outside world.”

“Now I’ll see them as they really are.”

“Now, you’ll see them, but only as they choose to be seen,” Dorothy clarified, turning her gaze back to him. “There are ways the fae hide things, even from each other.”

Trowa nodded, tapping his fingers absently as he considered broaching something that had been bothering him.

Dorothy shifted in her seat and recrossed her legs. “Go ahead.”

“What?” He said with a start.

“Something is still bothering you. Spit it out.”

“It doesn’t have much to do with the Sight, not directly…” Trowa trailed off, watching her warily. 

She waved a hand for him to continue. 

“Is everyone here a faerie?” He asked. “When you mentioned the Sight to Hilde, she didn’t seem surprised.”

Dorothy nodded, smirking slightly at him. “They are. I only employ faekin; it cuts down on unnecessary questions.”

“And they all left with you?”

“Hilde and Heero came with me. The others I’ve collected over the years, I suppose you could say. I’m the only full blooded fae, however.”

Trowa leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Is that why you had to leave? Because you didn’t agree with their view of half-fae.”

“Trowa Barton,” she said with a grin, tipping her head at him. “Are you trying to get to know me? Personally? You’re digging rather aggressively.”

He smirked in return. “Maybe I’m just curious. You never struck me as the charitable type, so for you to go out of your way for others, to the point where you’re forced to leave your own home-” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe I want to know why.”

“Maybe I only like faekin,” she relied with a challenging smirk.

“You like me,” Trowa retorted with a confident grin.

“And what a challenge  _ that _ has been.”

The two shared a grin. Trowa relaxed, confident that at the very least, she wouldn’t throw him out for probing. He felt more comfortable, as though they had settled on a mutual understanding.

“So let’s hear it,” Trowa prompted. “You didn’t agree with their way of thinking.”

Dorothy hummed thoughtfully as she leaned back. “As I said before, faeries view humans as a lesser race, something beneath them. Imagine then, what it would be like to be half-fae in a society who views half of your very self as inferior.”

“Aside from blood, is there any difference?” Trowa asked. “If you hadn’t pointed it out, I would have never know Hilde was half and you full.”

“In their realm, those of pure blood are simply known as Pure. Those of mixed blood are called the Unclean, though they refer to themselves as the Kin, since they share ties to both the fae and humans,” Dorothy explained. “Beyond that, the differences a negligible at best. Aside from a higher frequency of mundane Kin, because of those pesky human genetics, the Pure and Kin are the same.”

“Mundane?”

“Those with no magic ability. They’re more human that fae.” Dorothy shrugged. “Those are the ones who normally remain with humans, as they also don’t have the Sight. They may have better luck growing plants or have a special touch with animals, but that’s it.”

“So if there’s basically no difference, why bother making a big deal out of nothing?” Trowa frowned.

“I never said it made sense.” Dorothy shrugged. “In any case, my view on the matter became a point of contention, so I left.”

Trowa paused, taking in the tense line of her shoulders, the way her fingers dug into her arms, and her bitter tone. “You left someone behind.”

Dorothy looked away as she glared at the wall, her jaw clenched.

“I’ll find them, too.” Trowa said firmly, though he wasn’t sure how.

Dorothy scoffed bitterly. “You can’t save everyone, Trowa Barton.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

A knock broke through the tension, followed by the door opening as Hilde peeked inside. “Your next appointment is ready,” she said, glancing between them.

“Thank you.” Dorothy stood, smoothing her skirt. “If you could finish up here please, Hilde.”

“Sure.”

“I meant it, Dorothy,” Trowa said, looking up at her.

She studied him a moment, then nodded. “Good luck.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew faeries didn't actually stay in the faerie realm!? And despite appearances, Heero and Hilde are not wham, bam, thank you ma'am.
> 
> So many questions, but don't worry! We'll start getting some answers soon! ;3


	9. Chapter 9

_When the sun came through_   
_I watched you laugh_ _  
I saw you cry_

**_Levoile_ **

Trowa made the trip back to Levoile in a daze, his mind filled with everything he had learned over the past two days, all jammed and jumbled in his head. Aside from the brief break he had at the hotel, Trowa hadn’t stopped moving since the past weekend.

He was exhausted.

He detoured to his apartment long enough to grab his and Quatre’s overnight bags, then went right back on the road, determined to make some progress on his search, even if it was only a few hours. Even with the extended daylight of summer, he wouldn’t have much time after the long trip.

A couple hours later, he pulled into the familiar driveway and parked. He sat for a long moment, staring blankly over the steering wheel.

Back again, this time without Quatre, or like the time before, without Cathy-

He gasped and lunged for his phone, cursing his scrambled thoughts. After everything that had happened, he had completely forgotten to call Cathy. He dialed her number and waited, tapping his fingers against his leg.

“Hey, I wasn’t even expecting to get an email from you before this weekend, let alone a phone call,” Cathy said with a laugh, causing Trowa to quirk a grin. In the background, he could hear his niece and nephew playing, gabbing back and forth to each other. “To what do I owe the special call?”

“I’m back at the house,” Trowa began, trying to keep the conversation light. He didn’t want her to worry right off the bat.

“Really? Why are you there so soon? And why now? What about work?” Cathy rattled off. He could almost hear her narrowing her eyes.

“I just wanted to let you know where I am. I’ll be here at least a week.”

“Trowa,” she said, her voice twinged in a warning. “What’s going on?”

Trowa closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. “Quatre’s missing.”

“Wait, he’s missing? When did he go missing? You’re not making sense. Start at the beginning,” she demanded, each statement shot one after the other. He could hear her walk through her house, probably looking for a place to converse in private.

“We decided to take some vacation time,” Trowa explained, letting some of his weariness seep into his words. “I brought him to the house and we went hiking the bayou, but we got separated, and I haven’t seen him since.” He squeezed his eyes tighter against the rising burn, determined not to break down with his sister on the phone.

“Are you okay?” Cathy asked, her concern clear despite her demanding tone.

Trowa opened his mouth, ready to reassure her, when he hesitated, knowing she would call him on his bullshit. “I’ve been better,” he answered honestly, glad his voice didn’t shake.

“I can be down there in a few hours, tops,” she said, once again accompanied with her heavy steps as she marched through her house, already on the warpath and ready to assist.

“No, you don’t need to do that,” Trowa said quickly, shaking his head. “What about the kids? Who’s going to watch them?”

“I have an entire troupe who have been waiting on bated breath for their chance to watch the kids,” Cathy said with fond exasperation. “Barring any of those clowns-” Trowa quirked a grin at the joke, “-the circus master would gladly keep them for me for a few days.”

“Cathy,” he said softly, and he heard her stop in her tracks. “I’ll let you know if I need help. I’ve already alerted everyone who can help me. I just wanted to let you know what was going on and where I’ll be.”

On the other end of the line, he heard her inhale and sigh heavily, more than likely almost buzzing from indecision. He could picture her bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, a habit she did anytime she was torn between two choices.

“Alright,” she said, dragging the word in her reluctance. “But the _moment_ , and I mean _moment_ anything changes, you will call me,” Cathy demanded.

Trowa smiled fondly, and huffed a laugh. “I promise. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

“You better, or your ass will be mine.”

Trowa chuckled, picturing her heated glare. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“Be careful, Trowa.”

“I will.” They exchanged goodbyes, and hung up. Trowa tossed the phone in the passenger seat and sighed. That went better than expected, but he could almost feel the heat of her glare. Regardless of her displeasure, the last thing Trowa wanted was for someone else to get caught up in the mess. Things were tangled enough as it was.

He climbed out of the car and collected his bags, and dropped them off inside the house. He was quickly running out of daylight, and wanted to make at least one trip to the old tree before calling it a day.

He locked up the car and house, and set off to the bayou.

Trowa ducked under the moss and paused just inside, allowing his eyes to adjust once more. This time, the gloom didn’t seem so complete, his newly acquired Sight allowing him to see everything in the shadows as clearly as midday. The colors, while muted, were still richer than any time before, and once again, Trowa was struck by how vibrant everything looked.

Just beside him, something twitched out of the corner of his eye, and he turned quickly, his body thrumming with tension. Something was moving on the old cypress tree.

He leaned forward, squinting as he tried to make out what it was. At first, he thought the trunk was covered in black bugs, beetles that scrambled over the surface and he wondered how he had never noticed them before, but as he looked closer, he realized it was something completely different.

They were markings.

As he watched, each marking, a circle the size of a penny with lines or dots or both glided across the bark, never touching one another, simply passing as though each were on some hidden path. He looked up and down, marveling as every surface was covered, from the base up into the canopy.

He’d never seen markings like that before.

Trowa tore his gaze away and walked down the path to another tree, smaller and much younger, and inspected its trunk, but there was nothing. Surprised, he check others along the path, but no other trees had the strange symbols.

What made that one different? Age? Location? Maybe it served as a marker of some kind, signifying the beginning of a pathway.

Confused, but intrigued, he continued deeper into the bayou, glancing over the trees as he went, hoping to catch sight of the markings again.

Eventually, he made it back to the ancient tree. As he stepped up the stairs, he paused and crouched, watching as the same symbols danced along the roots forming each rise.

They were here too, meaning that perhaps the symbols had something to do with the age of the trees.

Trowa rose quickly, climbed the final steps and ducked under the branches, marveling at the play of the light against the leaves and moss, how many shades of green and grey intermingled above him. He couldn’t get over just how different everything looked with the Sight. Woven through it all, the branches seemed to move between the leaves, brought to life by the tiny symbols. He traces the branches back along each twig, to the branches, to each larger limb.

He turned around, following the line of the trunk from the canopy down, scanning the small enclosure, then gasped.

Sitting at the base of the tree was Duo, watching him with a tiny smile on his face, eyes shining and earnest. He was wearing a loose, sleeveless black shirt and matching pants, the material thin and billowy.

“Duo,” Trowa breathed. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, sure he was seeing things.

He saw the moment Duo realized something was wrong. He tensed, scrambling to his feet, but Trowa quickly crossed the dirt floor and grabbed his arms, holding him against the tree.

“Wait, please, just listen to me,” Trowa pleaded, gripping tightly as Duo squirmed.

“Let me go!”

“Only if you promise you won’t run,” Trowa insisted, looking down at him. He kept his expression open, laying every emotion on the table for Duo to see. Disbelief, wonder, hope, and fear all twisted and fought for a place on his face.

Duo met his eyes, his own wide with fear and surprise. Finally, he nodded, a quick jerk of his head.

Trowa watched him a moment longer, then released his arms, but he stayed where he was, close enough to feel Duo’s harsh breaths on his skin. “Why do you keep running?”

Duo swallow thickly, dropping his gaze to stare at Trowa’s chest. “Because they can find you through me.”

“You keep saying they,” Trowa said with a frown. “Who are they?”

“You won’t believe me,” Duo said in a small voice.

“Try me,” Trowa challenged, causing Duo to flinch. He shoved aside the instant pang of regret and pressed on. “Why do you think I can see you now?”

Duo stilled, gasping lightly. “You saw the Exile.”

“Who?”

“The Exile, she gave you the Sight.” Duo rolled his head against the tree with a scoff. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Trowa stared at him as another piece of the puzzle fell into place. The Exile. Dorothy. Her words came back to him, her simple remark that was steeped with history.

_I had to leave._

“You know her?”

“I know of her,” Duo clarified, looking at the branches around them. “I’ve never met her in person.”

Trowa snorted. “You're not missing much.”

Duo quirked a grin, just a flash of amusement, but it was enough to set Trowa’s heart racing.

“I looked for you,” Trowa pressed on. “I came back hoping that there was a chance to see you again.”

Duo shook his head. “After everything I did to keep you safe, you just keep waltzing in here.”

“That's what I don't get,” Trowa frowned, silently begging Duo to look at him. “You keep saying you’re protecting me, but I don't know what from or why. What's out there that's so dangerous that you need to keep me out of the bayou?”

Duo was silent a long moment, staring into space. Trowa waited. He could almost see the wheels turning in his head. Duo clenched his jaw, then turned his eyes on Trowa, pinning him in place with the intensity of his stare.

“How much do you know?”

Trowa took a step back, giving Duo space. He trusted that he wouldn't run now that he was invested.

“I know that faeries live in the bayou, both full and half, and that they've lived here longer than Levoile has existed. I know that children have disappeared from the town, and that it ended when you and your brother vanished, though I don't know exactly how they're connected. Dorothy didn't elaborate,” Trowa finished with a shrug.

Duo tensed at the mention of his brother, his fists clenching for a moment before falling lax again. “They didn't stop.”

“There were others?” Trowa gasped. “I guess I shouldn't be surprised. One of the men in town said disappearances were always a problem.”

“The hazards of living next to a faerie sect,” Duo sneered. “They need them.”

“For what?”

Duo gave a half hearted shrug, avoiding Trowa’s eyes.

“Does it have something to do with ‘them’?” Trowa prodded.

“It has everything to do with them,” Duo scowled. “They’re the ones who give the orders to round up the children.”

“How do they pick which ones?” Trowa asked as yet another puzzle piece fell into place.

Duo scoffed, shifting to lean more comfortably against the trunk. “It sounds like you already know the answer.”

“The changelings,” Trowa breathed.

“Always thought it was strange they called us that,” Duo murmured, almost to himself. “We’re half fae, though some are more so than others.”

Trowa froze, staring at Duo as though seeing him for the first time. Half fae?

“But you don’t have…” Trowa trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his ears.

Duo snorted with amusement. “You mean I don’t have pointy ears and lacy wings and all the usual faerie things?” Duo grinned when Trowa shrugged sheepishly. “Maybe I don’t want you to see them.”

Trowa’s eyes widened, glancing from Duo’s ears to his shoulder, half expecting wings to spring out of nowhere. Suddenly, Duo laughed, a bright, rich sound. Trowa stared for a completely different reason.

“I’m not going to spontaneously sprout wings,” Duo said with a smile, and Trowa felt his heart skip. “The fae use glamours to mask their appearance.”

“So you do have them,” Trowa said.

“I will neither confirm or deny,” Duo said with a smirk, tipping his head to watch Trowa through his bangs.

Trowa swallowed and looked away, his cheeks burning.

“What about you?” Duo asked. “You don’t have wings.”

Trowa shook his head. “I’m not a faerie,” he said slowly, stating the obvious.

Duo straightened, looking at him in confusion. “What do you mean? Of course you are. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be interested in you.”

Trowa gaped at him, sure he had misunderstood. “What?”

Duo’s frown deepened. “How did you think you got the Sight? It only works on those who have faerie blood.”

Trowa closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. There was a mistake. He wasn’t half fae, one of the Kin, _Unclean_. It was a trick, a misdirection to shift focus off Duo and onto him. Right?

He felt the world start to shift, and he reached out, searching for something to hold onto. A cool hand grabbed his own, and he was slowly lowered to the ground as a strong arm wrapped around his waist.

“I got ya.” The words were spoken softly, lightly brushing across the shell of his ear. Trowa suppressed a shiver, focusing on the hard earth underneath him, the arm still wrapped around his waist, both anchoring him. He opened his eyes, meeting Duo’s concerned gaze.

“I’m okay,” Trowa said, breathing deeply. “Just a shock. I never considered-” He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. “I never felt different.”

Duo chuckled lightly. “Of course not. You’re still the same person.”

Trowa shook his head slowly, still reeling from the revelation.

“The faeries only steal the half fae children of the town,” Duo explained, his voice quiet. Trowa listened to the calming tone and felt himself relax. “They wanted to steal you, but I stopped them.”

“Why me?” Trowa asked, opening his eyes to search Duo’s face.

Duo ducked his head, his grip tightening slightly around Trowa’s hand. “Because you were different.” He looked up, staring straight at Trowa. “You were special.”

Trowa inhaled sharply, barely daring to breathe as he leaned forward. “And now?” He brought his hand up slowly, hovering just above Duo’s cheek.

Duo leaned forward as well, his eyes never leaving Trowa’s. “More than anything.” He closed his eyes, tipping his head just so as their lips met, just a gentle press, chaste and sweet. As he pulled away, Trowa cupped his cheek, holding him in place, then leaned forward again, capturing his lips in a deep kiss.

Trowa wasn't sure who moved first, whether he released Duo’s hand to instead splay across the small of Duo’s back, the thin material barely separating them, or if Duo shifted closer, nearly into Trowa’s lap, one hand holding Trowa’s forearm while the other fisted in his shirt. They broke apart slowly and leaned their foreheads together, eyes closed, breathing the same air.

“Come with me,” Trowa whispered, bumping his nose against Duo’s.

“If I could,” Duo breathed, his grip tightening against Trowa’s chest.

“Why not?” Trowa asked, opening his eyes. “What's keeping you here?”

Duo shook his head, his expression pained as he met Trowa's eyes. “I’m bound to this place.”

Trowa leaned back, his hand sliding from Duo’s cheek to the back of his neck, threading his fingers in his braided hair. “I don't understand,” he frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means I can't leave. I _physically_ can't,” Duo said, squeezing his eyes shut, his body tense under Trowa’s hands. “I wanted to, every night. Watching you leave, not knowing if that would be the last time I saw you-" He shook his head sharply. “It's a wall, a barrier. My soul is bound here,” Duo said, drawing back from Trowa. “There’s nothing you can do to change that.”

Trowa shook his head slowly, refusing to believe him. There had to be a way to free him. He hadn’t put his life on the line just to be turned down now. “There has to be a way.”

“There’s no way-”

“Then we’ll make one,” Trowa interrupted, his face set. He squared his shoulders, tightening his grip on Duo, staring into his eyes. “We’ll figure something out, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Duo whispered, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t even know what you’re getting into.”

“So tell me,” Trowa replied simply.

Duo reached back and gently pulled Trowa’s hands away, instead holding them in his own as he settled on the ground. He stared at their joined hands as he spoke. “I’ve been here a long time. I’ve seen people come and go. Some wandered in and left on their own, and others…” He trailed off and inhaled a shaky breath.

“The leader of the Fae is a man called Treize. Any Kin who enter the bayou and come insider our borders, even by accident, fall under his command. It’s my job to find them,” he finished meekly, shoulders hunching as he curled in on himself, expecting retaliation.

“You’re bound to him?” Trowa gasped, twisting his hands to grasp Duo’s. “You’re his slave?”

Duo flinched at the word. “Not in the sense you’re thinking,” he said. “I can go where I want and I’m not a servant.”

“But you can’t leave, and you have to answer to him, collect others to fall under his rule,” Trowa scoffed.

“I have to,” Duo said angrily. “I have no choice!”

“You chose with me,” Trowa countered, refusing to back down.

“He was going to use you!”

“For what?”

Duo opened his mouth, glaring daggers at him when he choked, his eyes widening as his hands flew to his throat.

“Duo!” Trowa grabbed his shoulders as the smaller man coughed harshly.

“Damn it,” Duo said, his voice raspy as he blinked watery eyes. “I thought that now-” He rubbed his throat as he scowled.

“What happened?” Trowa asked, watching him with concern.

“I thought I could talk about it.” Duo shook his head. “After the Upheaval… The bastard must have tied it into my binding.”

“Another thing you can’t physically do,” Trowa growled. With every new shred of information, his hatred of the mysterious leader grew.

“He needed you then, fifteen years ago,” Duo said carefully, testing the limits of the gag. “I got you out so he couldn’t use you. That hasn’t changed.”

“He still needs me for whatever he’s planning.” Trowa frowned as Duo nodded. “Then we’ll have to figure out a way to stay hidden while we get Quatre.”

“You can’t just _get_ Quatre,” Duo said, incredulous. “He’s bound by his Oath.”

“We’ll figure out the details later,” Trowa dismissed, his mind nearly full to bursting with all the new information. “One thing at a time.”

“You’re not going to let this go.” Duo scoffed in disbelief when Trowa shook his head, his expression serious. “Fine, we’ll figure something out.”

Duo rose, pulling Trowa to his feet as he did, then headed to the exit, dragging Trowa behind him.

“Where are we going?” Trowa asked as he followed him down the stairs to the path.

“If you’re going to be stubborn about this, you’ll need to stay somewhere close,” Duo said without turning. “And we can’t do this alone. We’re going to take care of two birds with one stone.”

Without waiting for Trowa’s reply, Duo set off down the path. “Come on, we still have a long way to go.”

Trowa quickly moved to catch up. “Go? Go where?”

“Home,” Duo replied without turning. He went around the bend, disappearing from view, and Trowa had a brief moment of panic. He sped up, searching for him, when a huge creature surged out of the waters, its deep growl filling Trowa’s ears.

He jerked back with an aborted scream, losing his balance. He landed hard on his back and immediately tried to scramble away as an enormous alligator raced down the path, jaws open, claws digging into the dirt-

“STOP!”

The gator froze, its slitted eyes fixed on Trowa, a low hiss sounding with every exhale.

Trowa scrambled back a few more feet, chest heaving, his eyes fixed on the monstrous creature. He saw Duo approaching quickly from behind the gator, his eyes wide.

“Are you okay?”

Trowa wanted to look at him, to shout a warning to get away, but he couldn’t look away from the angry beast. He nodded with a sharp jerk, not trusting himself to speak.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you about Battant,” Duo came up beside the gator and knelt down, running his hand over its head like it was some scaly dog.

Trowa could only blink.

The gator closed its jaws slowly, leaning its head into Duo’s touch. Its eyes remained fixed on Trowa, but at least it had stopped hissing.

“What?” Trowa eventually croaked.

“He won’t hurt you,” Duo said, motioning to Trowa. “He was only trying to protect me.”

Trowa swallowed thickly and slowly got up, every muscle strung tight, his instincts screaming for him to get away, but he remained in place, tense and wary. Now the he could see it fully, his fear redoubled, and he clenched his fists in an effort to remain still. The animal was easily twelve feet long, dwarfing Duo’s form, its body almost the width of the path. Trowa could only stare at its massive jaws, remembering how wide they opened, ready to snap him in half in a single bite.

“Protect you?” Trowa asked, incredulous. “You have a _pet alligator_?”

Duo frowned. “He’s not a pet. He’s a friend. I saved him from a poacher’s trap, and he’s been with me ever since.”

“Everywhere you go?” Trowa asked, suddenly acutely aware of the surrounding waterways.

“Of course,” Duo chirped, smiling down at the reptile.

“How long have you…” Trowa trailed off, motioning between them, his movements jerky.

Duo pursed his lips, looking at the sky as he thought. “Probably right around the time I met you. Actually,” he squinted, humming to himself. “No, it was just before that.”

Trowa felt lightheaded. He wanted to close his eyes, to take a breather and try to settle himself, find some solid ground, but he didn’t trust the gator wouldn’t seize that moment and end it. All that time he had played with Duo, ran along these same paths, played along the water’s edge, washed their hands in the streams, kicked their feet off the edge of their boat launch, this monstrous gator had lurked just beneath the surface, watching.

One bite, and he would have been lost to the granddad’s jaws.

Duo watched him with concern. “Are you alright? You look pale.” He got up and approached Trowa, laying a cool hand against his cheek.

Trowa inhaled slowly, closing his eyes as he focused on Duo’s touch instead of the four hundred pound killing machine. “What did you say his name was?” He asked, opening his eyes.

“Battant,” Duo answered, keeping his hand in place, watching Trowa carefully. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. This was probably the worst introduction possible.”

Trowa huffed a laugh, just shy of hysterical. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Duo’s face fell, and he dropped his hand. Trowa quickly grabbed it, smiling tightly at him. “It’s okay, it was just a… shock. I’ll be alright.”

Duo searched his face, then nodded. “Thank you.” He pulled away and turned back to the eerily still gator blocking the path. “And thank you for your concern, but this is Trowa, the boy I played with just before the Upheaval.”

Trowa filed the strange phrase away, focusing instead on the the reptile’s piercing gaze, watching as his eyes flipped from him to Duo, back and forth, until he finally retreated, sliding back into the water with only a gentle splash, and disappeared completely.

It was entirely unnerving.

“I thought gators didn’t chase their prey,” Trowa asked, his eyes still fixed on the water.

“They don’t, usually,” Duo said, setting off down the path again. “He’s more aggressive than most gators.”

“No kidding,” Trowa murmured, following closely behind, his senses on high alert.

“Some would say he has a bit of croc in him, but don’t tell him I said that,” Duo stage whispered over his shoulder. “It’d be rude to say that to a gator.”

Trowa held his tongue; for all he knew, alligators and crocodiles could be mortal enemies. Maybe half of all deaths by the creatures could be directly tied to someone mistaking one for the other, the ultimate insult, punishable by death. He was certain that anything he said could be taken as an insult to an alligator, but he’d take Duo’s word for it.

They walked a bit further until they came to crossroad, their current path ending as the intersecting path disappeared to their left and right. Duo went across to the treeline, shoving aside the branches, revealing a wide waterway dotted with old cypress trees.

“The city isn’t much further from here,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder to wave Trowa over. He leaned aside so Trowa could look through the gap. “It’s a straight shot across the river and through the wetlands. It won’t take you long to get there.”

Trowa looked at him sharply. “What do you mean, me? Where are you going?”

“I’m going around. They’re expecting me back soon,” Duo said, his eyes fixed on the dark waters. “You’ll have to go the rest of the way with Battant.”

Trowa’s stomach did a strange flip, threatening to upend its contents. As he opened his mouth, the sound of sloshing water broke the heavy silence. He turned in time to watch the named gator slide easily out of the water behind them and lie across the path on his belly, looking perfectly content to remain there until the end of time.

Trowa swallowed as his heart tried to beat its way out his body through his throat, his eyes fixed on the reptile. He didn’t trust him, not in the slightest, regardless of what Duo said. “He’s coming with _me_?”

Duo snorted, releasing the branches as he turned to face Trowa, ignoring the gator. “Of course. You don’t know the way and unless you have a boat hidden somewhere, you can’t cross the river.”

“Why can’t I go with you?” Trowa turned his head toward Duo without taking his eyes off Battant. He could swear the creature was smirking at him, despite its permanent, unchanging grin.

“We’ve been over this,” Duo sighed. “I’m not going to hand deliver you to them. It’d do no good for either of us, or Quatre.”

Trowa pursed his lips, trying to convey his displeasure with the whole situation without actually taking his eyes off the immediate threat. “So how will this work? Do you have a raft or something that he can pull or…”

He felt Duo shift uncomfortably, his fingers dancing against each other.

“Duo…”

“You’re going to have to get on his back.”

Trowa ripped his gaze from the gator to spare a glance at Duo, incredulous. “What?”

Duo grinned sheepishly, the tempo of his miniature dancers increasing. “It’s the only way to to get in without being seen. You have to go in underwater.”

“You want me to get on the back of _that_ -” Trowa pointed angrily at the gator. “-and go _underwater_ when part of hunting 101 for gators is to _drown their prey_.”

A low growl suddenly rumbled from the gator in question, the constant sound interrupted periodically as though it was hiccuping as well. Trowa froze, his eyes locking on the predator, ready to leap to one side or the other, certain he had just insulted the creature.

Duo let out a laugh, smiling brightly as he looked between the two. “He likes you!”

Trowa blinked, failing to see how something that was growling at him, however strangely, could be a sign of affec-

His thoughts derailed as he realized what he was hearing.

Battant was laughing.

Duo clapped him on the shoulder, and Trowa looked at him automatically, his stunned mind still trying to process the idea that alligators could laugh.

“See? Nothing to worry about. All you gotta do is lay on his back and wrap your arms around him. When you need to come up for air, just signal him; tap his belly or squeeze, whatever you need to do. He’ll get you there safely.”

Trowa stared at him blankly. He was being asked to ride an aggressive alligator through the swamp to sneak into a faerie city.

“How do you know I’ll be alright?” Trowa finally croaked.

“Because Battant likes you,” Duo said matter-of-factly. “You’ve shown him respect, and in turn, he respects you and will keep you safe.”

“You got all that out a laugh?” Trowa scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Hey.”

He looked down, meeting Duo’s worried eyes, his expression a sharp contrast to his earlier laughter.

“I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Before Trowa could answer, Duo leaned forward, rising on his feet to press a firm kiss to Trowa’s lips. Trowa relaxed, matching him as he held Duo steady against him, forgetting everything except the young man in front of him.

Duo pulled away, smiling softly at him, then disappeared down the path.

Trowa blinked at his sudden departure, then tensed again, turning slowly to stare at the large gator, his eyes fixed on him, unmoving. “So-” The word caught in his throat, and he cleared it nervously. “Let’s go,” he said, forcing a smile that was closer to a grimace.

Battant stared at him a moment longer, then rose smoothly onto his feet and sauntered across the path, his body swaying with each step. Trowa forced himself to remain still as he came up alongside and stopped. He inhaled a shaky breath, mentally shaking his head at the very thought - he was getting on the back of a _freaken gator_ \- and climbed on the gator, easing down slowly. Battant remained frozen, practically made of stone as Trowa shifted, grimacing as the pointed scales dug into his belly and legs. He wrapped his arms slowly around the gator’s neck, clasping his hands below.

Once settled and pointedly ignoring every instinct that insisted on screaming in his head, Battant stepped forward, pausing as Trowa acclimated to the shifting movement. He stepped again and slowly climbed down the bank into the water.

Trowa gasped as the cool water surged up around him, and he viciously shoved down the urge to tread water, to release the thing dragging him lower. Just as the water reached his neck, Battant leveled out and floated in place, giving Trowa a moment to catch his breath and shove aside his panic.

He inhaled slowly a couple times, then braced himself. Now or never.

Trowa inhaled as much as he could, then held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he ducked his head to press against the gator’s back, tightening his hold. Immediately, water washed over him, surging past him as Battant’s powerful tail propelled them through the river. He could feel the drag of his clothes, tugging at him as he clung to the gator’s back.

Just before he reached his limit, Trowa squeezed his arms, and suddenly his head broke through the surface. He gasped, blowing water of his mouth as he blinked around the streams running down his face. His hair had been plastered back out of his face, giving him a clear view of the waterway.

They were floating between huge cypress trees, each one a towering island, standing like sentinels in the murky water. Battant glided through the water, allowing Trowa to look around.

Branches arched gracefully from each tree, creating individual canopies woven with long tendrils of Spanish moss. Each one blended seamlessly into the next, hiding the sky in shades of green.

This would be a beautiful scenic ride, if his ride wasn't an aggressive alligator. He ignored the constant pull on his clothes, the way the water filled his shoes. He didn't want to think about how they were ruined by the constant sifting of muck through the fabric.

They soon left the sentinels behind, and moved into marshlands, the trees giving way to tall reeds and open sky. The water on the surface was warmer, much to Trowa’s relief. It wasn't much of a difference, but it was enough.

Trowa caught sight of other gators along the way, lounging like logs in the warm water, or at times, just the eyes and tip of their noses. Every now and then, a snake would glide by, its slender body waving through the water, ignoring the odd visitors. Cranes and herons stepped slowly through the reeds, more interested in what was below the water than above.

Battant suddenly dipped, just enough to get Trowa’s attention. He tightened his arms in reflex, his heart jumping into his throat until he caught a glimpse of where they were heading. Towering over the reeds was a wall of cypress trees, each one easily the size of the one they had used as a hideout.

Something about them demanded a reverence or respect only something so ancient could expect. Without understanding how, Trowa knew the city was just beyond the natural barrier.

The air around them grew heavy, hanging thick against him, muffling any noise. Bird calls faded, animals turned away from it, either changing course entirely or running along the edge, as though an invisible barrier prevented them from approaching the trees.

Battant dipped again, what Trowa now recognized as a warning. They would have to go under again.

Trowa took several steadying breaths, then inhaled deeply, again squeezing his arms as he ducked his head. The initial surge of warm water quickly turned cold as they dived. He could feel the brush of long, slimy tendrils of what he hoped was seaweed or water plants. He began to feel the familiar uncomfortable pressure in his chest, and squeezed his arms, ready to surface.

Instead, Battant surged forward in a sudden burst of speed. Trowa bit down on his initial panic as wild scenarios raced through his head, all leading to the same conclusion: Battant was going to drown him.

It took all his willpower to shove the thoughts aside, and with it his urge to release the gator and swim for the surface. He didn’t know how far under he was or _where_ he was. For all he knew, he was in the middle of the city. If he let go now, he could be immediately captured, or worse, killed the moment his head broke the surface. He had to trust the gator, and by extension, Duo, to get him to safety.

He just hoped it wouldn’t be much longer. His lungs were starting to burn, and it was getting more and more difficult to fight the urge to take a breath, hunt for air, anything to alleviate the pressure.

Battant gave a hard jerk, the sudden shift in direction bouncing Trowa’s head against his scaly back and shoving the last of air from his chest. He gasped in reflex, cool water flooding his mouth, and he quickly spit out what he could, shoving his face harder against Battant, fighting the urge to cough, knowing it be the end if he did. He tightened his fading grip as the gator torpedoed through the water, using his entire body to push them faster, up and up-

They broke the surface with an enormous splash, Battant’s speed launching them clear out of the water onto a hard surface.

Trowa released his death grip and rolled bonelessly off his back, landing with a thud on the floor below, coughing and gasping for breath as he rolled onto his side, chest burning. He could hear the gator growling and hissing above him as a woman shrieked.

He opened his eyes, squinting as the unexpected view of Battant’s underside filled his vision. He blinked at the uneven surface, his eyes tracing a thick and discolored scar that ripped across his scales.

“Battant!” The woman yelled, the floor under Trowa’s back vibrating with each angry step. “What did I tell you about bringing your meals onto my deck?”

Hands wrapped around Trowa’s arms, pulling him out from under the gator. He struggled weakly against them without thinking before a man’s harsh voice hissed in his ear. “Enough! We need to get you out of sight.”

“I just finished washing the floors!” The woman continued, either uncaring of the gator’s angry hisses or unafraid of him. Judging by the tone, it was the later. “Now I’ll have to do them all over again!”

Trowa nodded weakly to the man crouched at his side, and slung his arm over his neck as the man wrapped an arm around his waist, supporting his weight. He was half drug up a short ramp that led to a small room. Trowa was maneuvered to a pile of sheets and dropped in the middle.

“Wait here.”

As the man disappeared back down the ramp, Trowa slumped back into the soft pile and closed his eyes, giving into exhaustion.

His rescuer didn’t have to worry. Trowa wasn’t going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that was a long one.
> 
> Battant is short for "combattant", French for "fighter".
> 
> Also, Battant is my new favorite character, so expect more from my scaly friend <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who isn't dead!! And this fic isn't either! Funny how life gets in the way, but ya just gotta make due. 
> 
> This chapter is only kinda, sorta beta read, so any mistakes are my own.

_ 'Cause we were misfits, we were misfits _

**_City of the Fae_ **

Duo walked down the hall, projecting an air of ownership, of belonging. Despite the animosity, despite being looked down upon for who he was, for what he could do, no one could touch him. He was the king’s favorite jester in a court of fools.

He had walked these halls countless times, yet years of planning, of waiting and biding his time had come to this. He could still remember the first time he stepped foot here, the memory as clear today as it had been years ago, a small child clinging to Solo, equal parts frightened and amazed by the unfamiliar splendor around them.

Treize had been welcoming then, friendly, something so different from the harsh and angry treatment by their father that they had willingly followed and listened to his every word without question. He had fed and clothed them, given reassurances and made them promises of protection, safety, and of home, everything they had ever wanted. 

Duo carefully schooled his features as the familiar boil of anger rose with the memory, how every word had been a carefully twisted half-truth, playing to their weaknesses and desires. As a child, he hadn’t fathomed the extent of the consequences incurred by his deal with Treize. Even now, he was paying the price, and what did he have to show for it?

Less than nothing.

“You’re late.”

He didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence, standing stiff and ramrod straight at the base of the stairs, every hair bound tightly in twin buns. Some days he just wanted to rip them off her head. She fell in step with him as he began to climb, an annoyance he hid behind a mask of indifference.

“Master Treize has been waiting for you all day.”

“He could have called for me,” Duo said without turning, knowing that the simple act of keeping his back to her would set her off. After years of tormenting her, Une was so easy to read.

“Where were you?” She asked harshly, and Duo could imagine the aborted grab for his arm, the unspoken demand that he turn and face her.

“Out plotting the end of Treize’s reign,” he answered, flippant and dismissive. He allowed himself a tiny smirk of satisfaction as she released a measured exhale, a surefire sign of her patience coming to an end. She never believed him when he used that tone, a reaction that had been carefully cultivated, allowing him to speak the truth without anyone taking him seriously. 

It was a skill he had honed during his years he remained a child, the ability to speak candidly with the ignorant bluster only a child could possess. It allowed him a measure of freedom, to speak his mind and say whatever he wanted regardless of who was in the room. 

Despite his appearance, Duo’s mind had aged unhindered, allowing him an understanding of his surroundings as others dismissed his presence. He quickly found ‘adults’ were more likely to speak freely around a child they believed couldn’t understand them. Even now, many still viewed him as the same eight year old who spoke his mind and lived in ignorance. 

“You’re jokes will get you killed someday,” Une spat. “Sooner rather than later.”

“Your concern is touching.” Duo nodded to the guards outside Treize’s study, having assumed he would be waiting inside given that Une had been sent to meet him. As predicted, he was, standing on the far side of the room, back to the door, dressed in his finest dark robes.

Duo pressed his lips together, his mind following Treize’s gaze out the window, knowing what was expected of him.

“Duo,” Treize said by way of greeting, also without turning. Duo didn’t allow himself the twing of anger, not when he used the same tactic himself.

“You asked for me?”

Treize turned, slow and measured, every movement controlled. “Lady, please see that our preparations are ready.”

Duo caught the edge of her bow out of the corner of his eye as he remain in place, eyes locked on the Fae King. 

Or as close to a king as they’ve had.

Usurper.

Treize waited until the click of the door closing signaled they were alone, then turned his piercing gaze on Duo, appraising and full of intent. Duo had seen plenty of men and women bow beneath the weight of that gaze, willingly spilling their secrets and knowledge without Treize ever opening his mouth to ask.

Fortunately, Duo had plenty of practice. It also helped that he announced his secrets to the world, not that anyone believed him.

“I believe I have found a way to solve our need for a suitable replacement,” Treize finally said, motioning for Duo to walk with him, turning deeper into the study. 

Duo inhaled sharply, not bothering to hide his reaction. Treize would be more suspicious of nothing than something. “You’re sure you can find someone strong enough?” It was one concern the men shared, though for very different reasons. 

For Treize, every piece who failed represented time wasted looking for a replacement. For Duo, it represented another tie to his past he had to bury.

“I assure you, this method will ensure they will suit our needs.”

Duo followed him around a row of bookshelves, past the long table covered in the remains of yet another experiment gone wrong, until they reached the balcony. As they stepped outside, Duo took a moment to enjoy the view for what it was: a perfect location to appreciate the complete beauty of the Wellspring.

He blocked out the various servants moving around the polygon boardwalk that encircled it, the priests who each stood at the marker at each of the thirteen sides, and focused on the center of the Wellspring.

He could almost feel how ancient the phenomenon was, a spring of magic created with the formation of an enormous sinkhole, pulling everything around it into the depths as the earth collapsed and power sprung forth. Now, the waters were calm, a perfect mirror to the grand structures and flora that grew around its stable edges, quietly feeding its people power. 

His veins almost thrummed with it.

“You may not have heard yet, considering your time in the bayou,” Treize began, matching his gaze across the scene below. “But I have announced the creation of a contest of sorts.”

Duo remained silent, shifting his attention to watch Treize out of the corner of his eye. 

“As you’re well aware, the opportunity to train under Sylvia is highly coveted, an apprenticeship even moreso. Thus, I have created just such an opportunity, a period of time for young and inexperienced  _ Tisserands _ to learn from her, completing trials until we find the one with the greatest potential.” Treize turned to him. He appeared cool and collected, but Duo could see the ferver in his eyes. He had found a solution that eliminated the need for inefficient and fruitless searching and instead brought the prospects to him.

“The one chosen will be used in the ceremony,” Duo said, his mind racing as he looked for ways to twist the trials to his advantage. The whole reason Duo had found Trowa was because of Une’s premonition: he would be the final piece. Since Duo had ensured - as far as Treize knew - Trowa remained beyond his reach, an alternative would have to do, despite Une’s protests and lack of additional visions. 

Duo was certain the Wellspring would reject anyone but Trowa. As long as Treize remained ignorant to his presence, they had a chance of once again dooming his plans before they even began. 

Treize smiled at him, an indulgent look one would give a student who had finally answered correctly. Duo felt his hackles rise and bit his tongue. “We won’t have much time; the Dawn is a mere month away.”

Of course, Duo nodded. Treize would take steps to ensure every aspect of ceremony would be perfect, using every variable to his advantage. By performing the ceremony on the anniversary of the city’s creation, he ensured the Wellspring’s power would be at its peak.

“What do you want me to do?” Duo asked, meeting his eyes for the first time.

“You will oversee the trials,” Treize clasped his hands behind his back as he looked down at Duo. “Assist Sylvia how she sees fit, ensure the proper arrangements are made for the trials themselves, and report back to me anyone who you see as a potential replacement.”

Duo looked away, staring blankly over the idyllic scene. Treize had put him in the perfect position to ensure the success or failure of the search. “Why?”

“Why not?” Treize replied. “You of all people know what we are looking for, the stakes involved, as well as the potential reward.”

Duo swallowed thickly as his mind descended into the depths of the dark spring, remembering what dwelled just beneath the surface.

“I accept.”

“Excellent,” Treize nodded and turned back to the balcony, looking out over the edge. “You will begin tomorrow. I want the candidates here ready to train in three days time.”

“Of course.” Duo clenched his jaw as he lowered his gaze, then turned to leave.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

Duo paused, turning his head slightly.

“I’m sure it doesn’t need to be said-” Treize began. ‘But you’re going to say it anyway,’ Duo thought. “-but you will need to maintain your normal duties in addition to this task.”

Duo scoffed lightly as he walked away. Of course he would; he didn’t expect anything different.

He walked calmly down the halls, all his attention on maintaining his stoic facade. Just a few more turns and he would be in the common area, allowed to drop his masks and process everything that had happened.

He stepped through the double doors, carefully shutting them behind him as he scanned the room. Finding it empty, he let down his guard as he raced across the room and threw himself facedown on the first horizontal surface, a chaise among chairs arranged in a small sitting area. Duo grinned like a loon into the throw pillow, drunk with giddy joy as he hugged it to his face, kicking his feet where they hung haphazardly over the edge.

Trowa was here.

Trowa was  _ here! _

He was in the city, he had seen him again, they had kissed- Duo took a deep breath as he remembered the moment, ignoring how his cheeks flamed as he recalled how he practically crawled in Trowa’s lap to get closer. All the years of waiting for the next report had led to the day he had been lounging in their hideout reminiscing about simpler times. Trowa had walked inside, the sight hitting Duo like a bolt from the blue, grown into an adult, reality every bit better than anything Duo could imagine.

His heart had been in his throat as he watched Trowa search the area, had memorized the look on his face when he had spotted the apple, had nearly grabbed for him when Trowa took it and left. It had taken every ounce of his will to hold himself back. 

Finding the note the next day, carefully placed under a rock at the base of their tree had shattered his carefully crafted masks in a moment. He knew if Trowa had walked in as he had knelt on the ground sobbing, he would never had let him go. Despite knowing it was a bad idea, despite the risks, Duo had continue to return to the tree, desperate to catch another glimpse of him. 

He hadn’t expected Quatre to be there as well, and had definitely not anticipated him giving Trowa temporary Sight. Duo had spent hours, days probably, imagining what he would say to Trowa if he ever saw him again, replaying scenarios how they would meet.

Once again, reality was nothing like he imagined, and in a panic, he had fled. He still berated himself for reacting the way he did, but he pushed the feeling aside, focusing instead on the sound of Trowa calling his name, how determined he was to follow. Quatre’s presence had done nothing to lessen the pounding in his chest, the feelings that rallied against his ironclad control. 

As much as he wanted Trowa to stay, he had to go.

But he had returned, armed with the Sight, basic knowledge of the fae that only began to scratch the surface, and a stubborn streak of determination that matched Duo’s.

And they had kissed.

Duo laughed in disbelief and pressed his face deeper into the pillow.

“Either Treize died or you finally got laid, and I’m not sure I can tell the difference.”

Duo rolled bonelessly to the floor, releasing only a grunt for his efforts, clutching the pillow to his chest as he looked up at his companion. “Unfortunately, neither,” he said, his grin firmly in place. “Though both have a much greater chance of happening now.”

Sylvia arched a delicate eyebrow at him, one hand resting on her hip, inadvertently accenting the wide swath of pale pink fabric around her trim waist. Drapes of the fabric fell the floor around her, creating a graceful waterfall effect. “Care to elaborate?”

Duo shrugged and buried his face in the pillow, holding it in place with both arms thrown carelessly on top. “Why does Treize want to use your trials suggestion now?” He asked, his voice muffled.

He heard Sylvia huff in annoyance. “This isn't what I had in mind at all when I proposed this to him.”

Duo lowered the pillow enough to peek over the edge, taking in her agitated state. She crossed her arms, gripping them tightly. “Sylvia-"

“He told me he didn't want to waste time and resources trying to sort through the potential candidates,” she continued, either ignoring or not hearing him. “He wouldn't have even need to do anything. I had it all planned out.”

“Sylvia-"

“We have so few Weavers in the keep; I can't do everything myself. And now he wants to twist my idea into this, this  _ harvest _ .” She spat the word as her face twisted.

“Sylvie!” 

Sylvia jumped as she stared at Duo, now sitting up, pillow in his lap. He frowned in concern as she shook her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. Duo stood and replaced the pillow on the chaise before sitting as well. He patted the space beside him, and she settled with a sigh. “I never meant for it to become this.”

“Why is he using it now?” Duo asked, matching her tone. He grabbed the pillow again to prevent any fidgeting.

“Une.”

He stiffened, his sudden grip on the pillow pulling it taunt. Une knew. She had to know Trowa was here, made the connection Duo feared the most. He clenched his eyes shut as he mentally berated himself. He should have never brought Trowa. Now he was in more danger than before, and well within Treize’s grasp.

Sylvia laid a hand over his. “She didn't See anything.” Duo let out a shaky gasp as relief flooded through him. “Just a feeling. She insisted Treize do it now, saying he’d find what he's looking for.”

Duo shook his head, ignoring her watchful gaze. “That's still too close. What does that mean?”

“It doesn't automatically mean he wins,” Sylvia reasoned. “What exactly is he looking for?”

“We know what he wants!” Duo shoved himself off the chaise, throwing the pillow to the side with a sharp jerk. He paced across the room, staring blankly at the floor as he walked. “He's only ever wanted one thing since the Upheaval, and now, Une is practically saying he’ll get it, and we both know there is only one person who can give him what he wants.”

Sylvia pressed her lips together as she watched him. “We still have time. He hasn't won yet.”

Duo scoffed bitterly as he turned, stalking back toward her. “When has Une ever been wrong?”

“We can find a way-"

“I won't let his death be for nothing!”

Sylvia surged off the chaise, wrapping Duo in a tight hug as he stepped close. He froze in her arms, eyes wide.

“It won't,” she whispered fiercely, squeezing when he shook his head against her own. “ _ It won't _ . We won't let him win.”

Duo inhaled a steadying breath and let himself sink into her embrace, bringing his arms up to grasp her shoulders. They stood in silence, each lost in their thoughts until Sylvia pulled away. He released her and smiled his thanks.

There were no more words to be said.

They said their good nights, each retiring to their rooms at their respective ends of the common room. Duo closed the door and prepared for bed, biding his time as he counted in his head. Sylvia had a set routine that she followed every night without fail, though the first part was weather permitting.

She always took a moment to herself on the balcony, a mirror image of the one off Duo’s room. After a few minutes, she would disappear back inside and finish preparing for sleep.

Once his count hit zero, Duo went to the doorway leading out to the balcony and peeked discretely to her side to make sure it was clear. Despite knowing her routine, a healthy sense of caution always prompted him to double check. Satisfied, he crossed the small balcony to the far end and ducked into the space between one of the large supporting branches and the railing.

He quickly ascended the hidden stairs, a modification that had taken months to arrange. The steps had been coaxed from the branches, something only a Grower could achieve. Anyone with the ability could have done it, but the difficult part had been finding someone who wouldn’t talk.

Duo reached the top and stepped out onto the roof, then settled on the lone low cushion set in the junction between a supporting branch and the roof itself. This was his private sanctuary, a seat at the top of the fae’s little world. Directly ahead and below him was the Wellspring, its depths ink black in the twilight. He turned in his seat as he leaned back, leaving the spring on his left as he looked out over the city to his right, marked only by the steady lights of will-o-wisps.

Trowa was out there, across the city, hopefully safe with his close friends and allies. Once again, his safety was out of Duo’s hands, forcing him to rely on others.

He had years of practice, but it didn’t make it any easier.

He squirmed in the soft cushion until he was comfortably settled, then reached over his head to tap at the knob growing on the tree behind him. It had been easy to convince Sylvia to make him a few different alarms, playing into the assumption it took him a while to rise in the mornings. This one was set a hour before he would normally rise, giving him time to return to his bed below, everyone none the wiser.

He heaved a sigh, closed his eyes, and let the warm night air lull him to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

_ There’s a point we pass from which we can’t return _ _  
_ _ I felt the cold rain of the coming storm _

**_City of the Fae_ **

Trowa woke slowly, taking his time to gather his bearings. He was lying in a bed, and was much cleaner than he had any right to be after his trip through the swamp. He stretched, categorizing the feel of the soft material surrounding him. It felt like sheets, light and airy.

He propped himself up, glancing down at the loose, long-sleeved shirt he now wore, similar to what Duo had had on, but simple and white. A quick check revealed a matching set of pants. Someone had washed and dressed him before putting him to bed. He wasn’t wearing  _ any  _ of the same clothing.

Trowa shoved the embarrassing thought aside as he pushed back the covers and got up, looking curiously around the small, simple room. The bed was pushed into the corner, a small nightstand beside it. Directly across from him was an opening, large enough for double doors, that led out onto a balcony no wider than the room, deep enough for the small table and set of chairs occupying one end. Trowa walked outside and leaned against the railing, which looked to be made from tree limbs that had been coaxed to grow for this purpose. 

In fact, everything about the room felt like it was alive. The craftsmanship was elegant and simple, but echoed the natural lines of the cypress trees. The doorway to the balcony was rounded, as though the branches had merely grown to create a natural entrance. On either side, drapes of Spanish moss had been tied back, framing Trowa’s view from the veranda.

He was in a large treehouse suspended in the branches of an enormous cypress tree, just one of many that stretched in every direction. Far below him, marshy waters flowed slowly between each ancient tree, crisscrossed with rope bridges and floating platforms, creating what looked like a market district. Long boats pushed by fae with poles glided through the channels created between the fae-built islands, carrying people and goods.

As he looked out, he could make out similar dwellings high in the branches of the trees, each blending seamlessly with their natural growth. As his eyes bounced from tree to tree, on rare occasion a narrow bridge would span between the dwellings, connecting the hidden homes. He could barely make out stairs and landings that wrapped around the massive trunks, leading to the higher dwellings.

Below, people moved along the floating boardwalks, from platform to platform, talking and going about their business. Children ran and played along the bridges, jumping nimbly from platform to platform, sometimes using a passing boat to clear further distances. He could hear the din of the multitude of conversations that floated up through the still morning air.

Trowa’s attention was pulled to the immediate area as the door to his room opened, and he turned to see a young woman walk in, her arms full of clothes. She glanced at the bed, then to the balcony, smiling when she saw Trowa standing in the doorway.

“Glad to see you up,” she said pleasantly. She dropped her bundle on the bed and began sorting the pieces.

Trowa watched her, unsure of her intentions. She seemed kind enough. She wore a long sleeveless dress that followed her curves, ending at her ankles, above simple slipper-like shoes. Her blonde hair hung loose down her back.

“I apologize for my behavior yesterday,” she said, turning to smile at him over her shoulder. She finished folding the laundry, which Trowa could now see was his, and turned around to face him. “I’m not normally so excitable. You may call me Relena.”

“Trowa,” he replied, watching her closely.

She suddenly tutted and planted her hands on her hips. “I’m not going to bite your head off or anything of the sort. I find it strange you have more fear of me than a twelve foot alligator.”

Trowa twitched a grin before regaining control, pleasantly surprised by her straightforward banter. “Someone I trust vouched for the gator,” he replied, his eyes shining with amusement.

Relena arched a delicate brow, looking quite unimpressed. “I see. So you hold Battant in higher regard than myself?”

“He did manage to sneak me into the city.”

“He dropped you here, which must mean something,” she retorted.

“I doubt he has the capacity to alert others of my presence with the same level of  _ enthusiasm _ as you,” Trowa countered with a grin.

Relena suddenly laughed, a bright sound that reminded him of sunshine. “Duo never mentioned your wit.”

“Duo was here?” Trowa tried to tamp down on the rising disappointment that he might have missed his visit while sleeping.

“Briefly, to let us know  _ how _ to expect you,” she said with a grin.

Trowa smiled and relaxed, finding himself drawn to the kind fae. He crossed the room to stand beside her and inspected his clean clothes. “Thank you,” he said, relieved to find they had no signs of being drug through miles of swamp water. 

She inclined her head as she watched him.

After a thought, he glanced around the room, stepping back to check around the bed, then met her curious gaze. “What about my shoes?”

She gave a sympathetic wince before answering. “I couldn’t do much to save them.” She motioned towards the door, where a pair of similar slippers sat. “You may keep that pair for your use, if they fit. I used yours as a guide, but if those don’t work, it wouldn’t be too difficult to locate another pair.”

Trowa shrugged; it wasn’t worth the hassle of caring. Shoes were shoes. “Thank you.”

Relena nodded and turned to leave. “Come downstairs when you’re ready. The Healer is waiting to perform a final check up before she leaves.”

Trowa frowned as he did a mental check of his own, noting that aside from feeling tired and a slightly sore throat, he felt fine. 

“You did almost drown,” Relena added with a look, then left, pulling the door closed behind her.

He stared at the door for a long moment, the realization that he wasn’t in Kansas sinking in. His whole world had been turned on its head. He could either continue to be marveled by it, struck dumb by the impossibility, or accept it for what it was, and make the best of it. 

With a fortifying breath, Trowa opened the door and made his way down the hall to the stairs. As he descended, he heard the muffled sound of Relena’s voice along with two others, a man and another woman.

He followed the voices until he stepped into a living area. Relena and another blonde woman were sitting on the couch, while a dark haired man sat across from them in an elegantly carved chair. The man looked up and nodded to him as Trowa recognized him from the night before. Relena turned in her seat and smiled at him as she waved him further inside.

“Come and sit down, Trowa.” She stood and motioned for him to take her place beside the woman, who watched him with a critical eye. Trowa sat down gingerly, uncomfortable with the sudden scrutiny.

“This is Sally Po. She’s our best Healer,” Relena went to sit in the chair next to the young man, a matching set. 

The Healer rose and stood over Trowa, smiling down at him. “You’re lucky she’s well connected. The last thing you need is one of those two-bit cracks looking you over.”

“Sally!” Relena laughed, and Trowa felt some of the tension bleed out of his limbs. Sally winked at him, then waved him back into the seat. Once he settled, she held a hand over his chest, her eyes unfocused as she concentrated. Trowa held himself still as the palm of her hand began to glow, and he fought the urge to separate himself from the unknown.

He had no choice but to trust them.

She moved her hand over his chest, then motioned him to lean forward with her free hand. After sweeping her hand over his back, her brows drawn in concentration, she pulled away, the glow disappearing. As Trowa opened his mouth to ask if she was finished, she pulled a stethoscope out of thin air.

He stared, mouth still gaping as she settled the equipment into place and leaned forward. He jumped when the cool plate touched his chest as she reached inside his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

Sally glanced at him, arching an eyebrow as she moved to listen to the other side of his chest. “Listening to your lungs,” she said, speaking slowly as though explaining to a child.

“I get that,” he scoffed, annoyed by her tone. He frowned at the floor when she moved around him to listen to his back. “Why are you using a stethoscope?”

Sally finished her examination before answering. She pulled the equipment off her neck and motioned like she was hanging it up on a hook. When she let go, it disappeared. “How else am I going to hear your lungs?”

Trowa could only stare at the space where the stethoscope vanished as he struggled go put his confusion and surprise into words.

“In any case, everything checks out, but I would avoid any additional dips for a few days.”

Trowa relaxed, hiding his relief. He hadn't realized just how worried he’d been, but the questions remained. “I don't understand. Why do you need conventional methods when you have fae magic? Where did the stethoscope go?”

“Do you not believe I'm a doctor?” Sally straightened and crossed her arms.

Trowa quickly shook his head.

“Good, because I don't haul my diploma around on house calls. Gets in the way,” she shrugged dismissively. “As for my equipment, that’s just a little quirk of mine, spacial manipulation . If I know where something is and can visualize it, I can reach it, pull it from there to here and vise versa. Comes in handy.”

He nodded slowly, trying to process the information.  _ Accept and move on _ . He mentally shook his head, dispelling his overthinking. He didn’t need to know how or why it worked, only that it did.

As Sally gathered her things, Relena leaned forward. “Will you be joining us this afternoon?”

“I have another house call,” Sally answered, smiling apologetically. “Depending on how it goes, I’ll either be late or miss it entirely.”

“I’ll fill you in on anything you miss,” Relena promised. 

“I expect all the juicy details,” Sally winked at her, then said her goodbyes and left. 

The rest of the morning passed in a blur thanks to Relena’s bustling. Immediately following Sally’s departure, Trowa had been fed, directed where to wash up, and given a change of clothes. He accepted the bundle with wide eyes, moving automatically when she gave him instructions to change.

Fortunately, Wufei took pity on him and helped him dress, showing him which ties went with which loops and how the fabric was supposed to drape. When they returned downstairs, Wufei had quickly ducked away as Relena descended on Trowa, insisting on fixing his hair.

Trowa resisted the urge to run his fingers through his bangs, having already been scolded once by Relena. It wasn't that the hair gel was unpleasant - it actually had a rather soothing smell - but that it was different. He didn’t normally wear his hair slicked back out of his face.

Relena had insisted that it made him less conspicuous, but Trowa was used to seeing the world through the veil of his hair.

“Everyone can see my face clearly,” he argued, plucking at his clothes. 

“It’s a shame you’re so handsome,” Relena hummed, looking over him with a critical eye. “Otherwise people wouldn’t look twice. Despite that hurdle, you’ll attract less attention like this than you would with a distinctive hair style.”

Trowa sighed and finally relented, pulling on the light jacket Wufei handed him, then followed them down the stairs to the lower deck. He noticed it had been cleaned since he had been dropped off in spectacular fashion. 

“The deck looks nice,” he commented, remembering her  _ loud _ objections the night before.

Relena sniffed as Wufei muffled a laugh from where he hunched over a long boat tied along the side. “Thank you for saying so.”

She climbed into the boat and motioned for Trowa to join her. He carefully stepped inside and sat facing her. Wufei tossed the mooring rope onto the floor of the boat and stepped onto the small platform built into the back. He grabbed a long pole and shoved them away from the deck, navigating the waterway with practiced ease.

“Where are we going?” Trowa asked as he looked around, trying to not look too much like a tourist.

“To a meeting with a few like minded colleagues,” Relena answered, smiling lightly at him. 

“I thought I was supposed to stay hidden,” Trowa said, trying to remain calm as doubt crept  up in his mind. 

“Who told you that?” Relena asked.

“Duo!”

“Is that what he said?” 

Trowa paused, suddenly unsure. “Well, not in as many words, I guess.”

Relena hummed at him, an enigmatic smile on her face. Trowa wanted to trust her - what choice did he have? - but he couldn’t quite figure her out. She seemed nice enough, kind and understanding, but she had helped smuggle Trowa into the city. Despite being Pure, she was participating in activities that undermined her leader’s goals. She was as much a mystery to him as Dorothy.

“Won’t people notice that you have a guest with you?” Trowa asked as he glanced around, noticing the various long looks the trio were receiving. Throngs of people lined the boardwalks and platforms. Most of them ignored them - they were just another boat in the busy waterway - but inevitably, a few would stop and watch them, their curiosity plain on their faces.

“It’s not unusual to see unfamiliar Kin in the city,” Wufei said. Trowa twisted in his seat to face him. “We often host Kin when they first arrive.”

“What do you mean, arrive?”

“All fae are tied to this place, whether Pure or Kin,” Relena explained as Trowa turned to her. “For those born beyond the city, they have a desire, a calling of sorts, that pulls them back to this place, an instinct that leads them to return.”

Trowa nodded, remembering the constant tug in the back of his mind, one that always pointed his feet towards the edge of the bayou, even before he understood what it meant.

“Some are able to ignore it and live out their lives on the outside,” Relena continued. “Depending on how strong the pull is, they can either go about their lives without a care or forever remain unfulfilled, never understanding what is missing.”

Trowa looked away, unable to hold her knowing gaze. The first year after moving away had been the hardest of his life. He dreamed of the bayou constantly, and hated living so far from its boundaries. Over time, the feelings faded, becoming a constant dull ache in the back of his mind, part of the background. He hadn't thought about it again until Nonnie’s story brought the feeling back to the forefront, as though it had been waiting for the right moment.

“What about those who can't ignore it?” He asked, his voice subdued.

“Many of them wander into our borders, following their fae instincts as far as they dare. Some even make it to the city,” Relena said, matching his tone. “We have Gatherers, fae who patrol the bayou for the Kin to bring home, should they chose. Those who refuse are returned to their lives, none the wiser. Those who say yes are brought here.”

“And you host them,” Trowa clarified. “They stay with you.”

Relena nodded as Wufei spoke. “We teach them about our way of life, our traditions and values, what to expect. It’s often a difficult transition as we don't have the technologies of the human world.”

Trowa nodded absently as he turned over what he’d learned. The fae seemed to be a mix of contradictions. On the one hand, there were those who preferred to remain separate and hidden from humans, yet frequently mingled with them, then took steps to help the Kin left behind. On the other were those who wanted the fae to remain pure, untainted by humans, and yet wanted to step out of hiding and rule over them instead. 

Both sides wanted to interact with humans, yet couldn’t agree on how to do it. 

“We’re here.”

Wufei steered them to a low dock, stabbing his pole into the water go anchor them in place. He ducked and grabbed the rope, tossing it to a waiting fae, who tied it quickly, then held out his hand to help Relena out of the boat. 

Trowa climbed out after her, and gave up masking his gaping. The building was a multi-sided polygon built out and melding into the cypress rising from its center. Large doors dominated the wall facing the waterway, decorated with art echoing the simple lines of the weeping cypress, a matching set. 

Wufei stepped around him and offered his arm to Relena, motioning for Trowa to follow. As they approached, the doors swung open,  revealing a wide, multi-sided hall lined with statues centered on each wall. Various other fae milled around the room, some kneeling at the base of the statues, other clustered together.

Trowa marveled at the cavernous hall, realizing that it echoed the structure of the building. It was brightly lit, illuminated by the intricate weave of branches above their heads, creating a lacework ceiling. His eyes trailed along the walls, stopping to study the unique statues, each almost as tall as the ceiling, dressed in simple robes. He turned in place, taking a step back to look up into the face of the statue to the right of the main doors.

Its face was upturned, smiling joyously to the center of the ceiling, its hands stretched up and out, palms up. Trowa frowned as he caught a glimpse of something between its hands, a brief flash. He watched a moment longer, then turned away. It must have been a trick of the light.

To the left of the doors, another statue knelt slightly, its hands hovering over a sapling growing between its feet. It looked down at the young growth, its face proud and encouraging.

“They represent the original thirteen fae who harnessed the power of the Wellspring,” Relena said in a hushed voice. She nodded to the statue Trowa had been studying. “She is the one who asked the plants for shelter, coaxed them into the structures that would become our home.”

Trowa nodded as he thought back to his room, how everything had felt alive, as though it were still breathing.

“The other,” she continued, nodding towards the statue on the opposite side of the doors, “is the first Weaver, one who could harness the raw power of the Wellspring and shape it. The first creator.”

He glanced around the room again, then frowned as he noticed one was missing. “Where is the last statue?”

Relena turned her eyes above the doors, and Trowa turned to follow her gaze, then gasped. The final statue grew from the wall itself, its robes flowing over and around the doors to the floor. Its hands were held close together just above the top of the doors, cupped as though waiting for something to be placed inside. Its hood was pulled over its head, and though Trowa could look up inside, he could not see its face.

Suddenly, the double doors opened, admitting a tightly knit group of fae, all dressed in similar cloaks, hoods pulled over their heads. Trowa moved out of the way as they proceeded down the aisle to the center of the hall, where he noticed an altar for the first time.

Wufei motioned for him to follow and made his way toward the center, stopping just short of the edge of the empty circle surrounding the altar, marked by an ornate inlay of two toned wood in the floor.

They had walked in on a funeral, but it was unlike any he had ever seen or attended. A body lay on an altar, dressed in a simple, white robe, surrounded by the small group Trowa now realized were mourners. A fae dressed in all black stood at the head. 

That must be the undertaker, Trowa thought. The fae wore form fitting pants tucked into knee high boots. He had a jacket with a deep hood over a tight shirt, ending just above his knees. Even in the large, well lit room, Trowa couldn't see his face.

As he studied the strange group, he realized that the fae’s face was covered by a long veil, ending at his chest. Covered from head to toe, only the fae’s hands were bare, his pale skin a stark contrast to the unrelenting black. 

Wufei and Relena settled in to wait, and Trowa watched with interest. While no one had stated outright, he assumed fae were immortal, or at least long lived. The body on the altar appeared relatively young, equivalent to a middle aged human. 

Though no one spoke, a calm seemed to settle across the group. As if on cue, the mourners lowered their hoods, revealing a family of various ages. The undertaker then raised a hand to hover above the head. After a moment, his palm began to glow, and he pulled his hand up. Trowa gaped as a ghostly figure rose from the body, then stood up and turned to the gathering. 

“What-"

“The family is given one last chance to speak with their loved one,” Relena murmured to Trowa, her eyes fixed on the scene before them. “Then the soul will be sent to the Other Side.”

They watched as each fae stepped forward, either speaking to the spirit or sharing a final silent moment, then they all pulled back and looked to the final onlooker. The soul turned to face the undertaker, who had watched them all with silent patience. The soul then pressed a hand to his chest, then pulled it away, holding a ball of light. He then offered it to the hooded fae, who accepted it in his cupped hands, echoing the statue looming above the doors. 

The fae pressed the light to his chest, where it disappeared, then stepped forward, raising his hand until it was a hair's breadth from the soul’s forehead. The soul closed his eyes as the fae’s palm began to glow, and slowly faded away.

The family pulled their hoods over their heads and left without a backwards glance, leaving the body behind. Trowa watched them pass with a slight frown, glancing between them and the alter. 

“Their loved one is already gone,” Relena explained, catching his confusion. “All that remains is a shell.”

“This way.”

Trowa followed Wufei’s beckon, keeping one eye on his hosts while continuing to look around. They moved past the funeral toward a young woman standing in the shadow of one of the statues. She held a flower between her hands, white with purple stripes radiating out from its center. 

“We’ve come seeking council,” Relena said formally.

The girl nodded and turned to the wall. She pushed against it, revealing a door that blended in with the area, and led them through. They were in a wide hall that circled the perimeter of the building. Various doors lined the hall, some open, revealing smaller rooms for gatherings, occasionally some that look like an office, and more Trowa couldn’t discern the purpose. The hall followed the curve of the building, and the girl suddenly stopped in the middle of the hall, where there were no doors, and no view of them from either end of the hall.

She stepped close to the long thin table that stood against the inner wall and placed the flower in a vase with the same type of flower. She then removed the single pure white flower and set it in another vase with like flowers on another table down the hall. When she returned, she walked to the end of the table and pressed a palm against the wall. Without a sound, the wall swung away, revealing a dimly lit stairwell leading down, just wide enough to be concealed between adjacent rooms due to the architecture of the building.

“Thank you.” Relena smiled at her, then walked confidently into the narrow passage. Wufei nodded as well and followed her inside. Trowa had no choice but to follow, and quickly joined them, not wanting to be left behind. The door closed behind them, plunging them into darkness. A moment later, points of light appeared at their feet, illuminating their descent. The pair continued down, forcing Trowa to follow without having the time to question his decision.

He crouched enough to inspect the lights closer and swallowed his surprise when he realized they were just points of light with no discernible source. Will-o-wisps. He was literally following a trail of will-o-wisps.

A flash of light ahead drew his attention, and he watched as lights flickered into life at the base of the stairwell as Relena stepped inside, revealing a hall with a set of plain doors at its short end. Though still only wide enough for two across, it felt spacious compared to the stairs they had used to get here.

Wufei once again offered his arm, and Relena matched his stride towards the doors. Trowa was once again forced to follow in order to gain any answers to his ever mounting pile of questions. 

The doors opened as they approached, revealing a large, dark room. Trowa couldn’t see the far walls nor the ceiling, making the room feel spacious and stifling all at once. Despite being underground, or more, underwater, it did not feel damp as one would expect, but instead retained the sense of breathing that was a constant in the city.

In the center were long tables arranged in a loose square. The tables were all occupied, with the remaining three seats left open for them at the table closest to the doors. Small will-o-wisps, the size of tea lights, laid along the center of the tables, enough to illuminate the immediate area, though the faces were cast in long shadows, making it difficult to discern who was who.

“I believe all who will be attending are present,” a woman stated as they sat down, and a hush fell over the room.

Trowa resisted the urge to fidget, feeling the weight of multiple sets of eyes upon him, no doubt as curious about him as he was about them. He scanned the room, trying to make out individual faces.

“Shall we begin this meeting with two important welcomes, one new, one old,” the woman said, turning her head to address the entire room. “Welcome home,  _ Auditeur _ .”

Trowa’s eyes bounced through the shadows until they locked on the only familiar face in the room, one he knew just as well as his own, one he never expected to see so soon after arriving.

“Thank you,  _ Orateur _ . It has been too long. Allow me to extend the second welcome to our newcomer.” He leaned forward until his face was no longer hidden by shadows, his familiar teal eyes locking with Trowa’s. “Welcome to Teravel, Trowa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, cracking down. Let's get this party started, shall we? Also, any mistakes are my own!
> 
> Lyrics are from "The Good Left Undone" by Rise Against

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ART] Hanging in the Balance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852789) by [Kangofu_CB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB)




End file.
